Choosing You
by loverofhp4ever
Summary: What if the lead was not Eva, the girl who became a rebel after her traumatic childhood, but Zoe, a fangirl who learnt to hide away in books and shows after the same past? How different would the story be and where would it lead Gideon? Would he still love her the same or find a quirkiness weird? The whole series with a different lead. Read and review, please!
1. Introduction

Disclaimer- I don't own anything in the Crossfire universe and don't intend to make any profit out of my story. It all belongs to Sylvia Day. My only aim is to entertain and see, as well as show, stories from my point of view.

So, I have a habit. Whenever I read a story, I imagine myself playing the lead or the female protagonist. Sometimes, I even imagine the story from multiple people's perspective. Somehow, my reaction to situations is ever present, and my mind keeps thinking, 'what would I do in this situation?'. I like this and keep doing it.

This story is very close to my heart in a way. I believe that when a person is broken beyond repair, there is always someone else who is missing the pieces you seem to have. The thing is to complete each other and make one whole. I don't mean it in the romantic sense, but rather a very practical way. I do believe that opposites attract and that is simply because what one lacks, the other seems to be have covered.

I have seen people battle depression very closely and have read stories about how fandoms and books and TV shows and comics have often helped people get better and leave the depression behind for good. Whenever I read Eva's story, I would often wonder, what my reaction would have been to situations and this made me think a lot. I got the idea to do this.

A brief intro in that case. Everything, literally everything else in the story will remain the same, I'm a sucker for canon stuff. The only thing changing will be the lead, who will not actually be me, just someone like me. You could say it's a mixture of fangirls I've met over the years and they show themselves in various places through my character, who I have decided to call Zoe Tramell.

Some things will change (Brett Kline needs to fit somehow) since our Zoe will not act out like Eva did, rather become an introvert and never date barring a few times.

Basically, we'll work it out.

Sorry about the long boring talk, I was just preparing you to leave, if it's not your thing. But please please stay if you liked anything from above. If you don't like the way I go on with the story and have suggestions, I'll be so happy to listen and incorporate them.

Regards,

Kinda Zoe.


	2. Chapter 1(A)

**I don't own anything in this universe and don't intend to make any profit out of this story.**

"We should head to the bar and celebrate"

I can't help but smile at my roommate's pronouncement. Trust Cary Taylor to never give up. You just cannot get him off your back until you give him what he has been asking for. However, he's never unreasonable, and I find that quite charming. I, on the other hand, am a tough nut to crack too. "You know I don't drink, Cary."

"Well, I think it's about time you started, Zoe. Come on, please!" He is sitting on our new living room floor amid a half-dozen moving boxes and flashing his winning smile. Well, I call it a smile but it's more of a pleading grin. We've been unpacking for days, yet he still manages to look amazing. Leanly built, dark-haired, and green-eyed, Cary is a man who rarely looks anything less than absolutely gorgeous on any day of his life. It took some time, but now I am used to his gorgeousness in all its glory and having known him closely, I also know that his looks are not even the best part of him. He does, however, look a little tired today, but nothing a few good drinks couldn't cure, I'm sure.

"I'm not talking about a bender," he insists. "Just a glass of wine or two. We can hit happy hour and be in by eight. I could drink and you could check out the guys! Though, you know, you could have wine. It's not even really alcohol."

"I don't think I'll have the time." I gesture at my track pants and loose t-shirt. "After I time the walk to work, I'm going to watch the new Hannibal episode. And yes, wine is alcohol." I add for good measure.

"Every time you choose a show over going out, my heart breaks a little." He says, dramatically. His response makes me laugh and he raises a perfectly executed arched brow at that. He has beautiful, naturally shaped eye-brows, something that I particularly find unfair since mine are a mess. I fully expect his million-dollar face to appear on billboards and fashion magazines all over the world one day. No matter his expression, he's a knockout.

"How about tomorrow after work?" I offer as a substitute. "If I make it through the day, that'll be worth celebrating."

"Deal. I'm breaking in the new kitchen cabinet for dinner."

Uh oh. "Um…" Cooking is one of Cary's joys, but unfortunately, not one of his talents. "Great!" I say a little too enthusiastically.

"Your sarcasm will get you killed someday. Better drop that attitude at work tomorrow, Baby Girl." He blows a wayward strand of hair off his face and grins at me. "Wait, on second thought, maybe you should hang on to it. Lord knows how timid you are before strangers. Also, we've got a kitchen most restaurants would kill for. There's no way to screw up a meal here."

"You could always try." I say, disregarding his advice. I realize this as soon as I say it and follow it with, "Yes yes. Got to control the sarcasm, I know."

I head out with a wave, choosing to avoid a conversation about my sarcasm, reticent behavior and the new job. I have been nervous since I got it, fearing I'll find a way to mess it up with my smart aleck attitude and clumsiness personified. Going there is a way to get used to the building, my office, and get a feel of it, making sure to remember not to do stupid things tomorrow that I will definitely manage to do today. Taking the elevator down to the first floor, I smile and thank the doorman when he lets me out to the street with a flourish.

The moment I step out, I can feel the pulse of Manhattan in my veins. So different from my former home in San Diego, Manhattan is much more lively and frantic. It might be only a distance of 2700 miles (yes, I checked) but it feels like another world. If I had been given a choice, I would have gone to one of those walk-up apartments in Brooklyn, like the ones they show in the movies. But being a dutiful daughter, I found myself on the Upper West Side instead. Even the Upper East Side would have been a better choice, I think, for no reason except I am supposed to believe it because Blair and Serena keep saying it. Thank God Cary agreed to live with me or I would have felt like a ghost in the sprawling apartment that costs more per month than most people make in a year.

The doorman tips his hat to me. "Good evening, Miss Tramell. Will you need a cab this evening?"

"No thanks, Paul." I hold up my headphones. "I'll be walking."

He smiles. "It's cooled down from this afternoon. Should be nice."

"I've been told I should enjoy the June weather before its gets wicked hot."

"Very good advice, Miss Tramell."

I have half a mind to ask him to call me Zoe but I don't. Soon I'll be working, I should get used to such acknowledgments and get used to using them as well. I smile at him, put my headphones on and step out from under the modern glass entrance overhang. I enjoy the relative quiet of my tree-lined street before I reached the bustle and flow of traffic on Broadway. I unlock my phone, open the music and turn on shuffle. Bruno Mars comes on and I start walking. The volume is all the way up but it still barely manages to cover the noise of the cars and their horns.

Maybe someday I'll get used to it but today is not that day. I pause to gather the all-round effect and my God, is it overwhelming. The smell of vehicle exhaust mixed with the strong smell of food from the vendor carts, the shouts of the hawkers blended with music from street entertainers, the awe-inspiring range of faces and styles and accents, the gorgeous architectural wonders…. _Jesus Christ_. The frenetic flow of tightly packed cars was unlike anything I'd ever seen anywhere. Makes me wonder about how the street, the side walk, and I'm sure the subways are also filled with people. How many people live here?

I keep walking to the beat of Uptown Funk and try to do so without hitting someone or dashing against anybody. I barely manage to do that and hit/get hit by people more than a few times. Real New Yorkers cruise right through it all, their love for the city as comfortable and familiar as a favorite book. They don't have to worry about bumping into pedestrians and they don't feel unnerved at the ground vibrating beneath their feet as the subway roars below. New York is a brand new battle for me. I am nervous and it shows.

So I have to really work at playing it cool as I make my way over to the building where I will be working. As far as my job went, at least, I'd gotten my way. I want to make a living based on my own merits and that means an entry-level position. Starting tomorrow, I will be an assistant to Mark Garrity at Water Field & Leaman, one of the preeminent advertising agencies in the U.S. My stepfather, mega-financier Richard Stanton, had been annoyed, bordering on angry, when I took the job. He pointed out that if I had been less prideful, I could have worked with one of his friends, at a much higher position, and reaped the benefits of his connections. I, however, wouldn't budge.

"You're as stubborn as your father," he'd said. "It'll take him forever to pay off your student loans on a cop's salary."

That had been a major fight, where my dad, who is a smidgen more stubborn than me, was unwilling to back down. "Hell if another man's gonna pay for my daughter's education," Victor Reyes had said when Stanton made the offer. I respected that and suspected Stanton did too. Although he would never admit it. I understood their sides since I had fought to pay off my loans myself but I lost to the only man who could be more adamant than me. I understood that too. It was a question of pride for my father. My mother had refused to marry him, but he'd never wavered off from his determination to be my dad in every way possible.

Knowing it was useless to think about the lost battles of the past, I focus on getting to work as quickly as possible. I've deliberately chosen to clock the short trip during a busy time on Monday, so I am quite pleased when I reach the Crossfire Building, which housed Waters Field & Leaman, in less than thirty minutes. I figure it is good timing, since I don't exercise, a walk an hour a day would be a good idea.

I tip my head back and follow the line of the building all the way up to the slender ribbon of sky and have to stop, even though I've seen it before, to take in the effect of the whole building. The Crossfire is seriously impressive, a sleek spire of gleaming sapphire that pierced the clouds, I think poetically. I know from my previous interviews that the interior on the other side of the ornate copper-framed revolving doors is just as awe-inspiring, with golden veined marble floors and walls, and brushed aluminium security desk and turnstiles. I move out of the way of the striders and stand there for a second, gazing at the architectural marvel. It is seriously beautiful.

I pull out my new ID card out of the inner pocket of my pants and hold it up for the two guards in black business suits at the desk. They stop me anyway, no doubt because I am looking like I got out of bed and rolled here, but then they clear me through. After I complete an elevator ride up to the twentieth floor, I'd have a general idea of the time taken for the whole route from door to door. Well, Allons-y.

I am walking toward the bank of elevators when a svelte, beautifully groomed brunette catches her purse on a turnstile and upends it, spilling a deluge of change. Coins rain onto the marble and roll merrily away, and people just dodge the chaos and keep going as if they don't see it. I take off my headphones and go towards her to help her out, as does one of the guards. Maybe God designates one such embarrassing event wherever I go and this time, someone else has to bear my fate.

"Thank you," she breathes shooting me a quick harried smile.

I smile back. "No problem. I've been there plenty of times."

I've just squatted to reach a nickel lying near the entrance when I run into a pair of luxurious looking black shoes draped in crisp black slacks. I wait for the man to move out of my way and when he doesn't, I arch my neck back to allow my line of sight to rise. He is wearing a three-piece, again expensive looking, suit which fits him to perfection. _Hot bod_ , I think. He is tall and lean yet manages to look powerful and not one bit gawky. Then, I see his face and _Oh Wow!  
_

 _Just…. Wow!_

He sinks into an elegant crouch directly in front of me, less than two feet away. Hit with that face at eye-level I am mesmerized for a second, till I realize where I am. I look away, too conscious of myself and how I look, in my track pants and lose t-shirt which read 'Minas Tirith Official Alumni', I just want to avoid looking at him now and get out of the situation fast. But out of the corner of my eye, I can see him looking at me. _Dammit!_

Out of the pure need to show him that I am not afraid or that I am purposely avoiding looking at him, I look towards his face again. _Big mistake_ , I think. Let's lay it down, he is gorgeous. Other worldly gorgeous. Inky black hair framed a breath-taking face and his bone structure would make Benedict Cumberbatch question his jawline. A firmly etched mouth, blade of a nose, and intensely blue eyes make him look like a Greek God. Right now though, he looks amused. His eyes sparkling, as if this is a very funny situation to him. I stare back now, defiantly and something happens then. His eyes, moments ago shiny with mirth, now look so intense, it is like staring into the sun. I falter and looked away again, giving up on this weird staring competition, but I can feel his gaze on me. Is he sizing me up? Judging me even. Maybe he is trying to remember me to recant as a funny tale to his friends. It feels different though, something more strong, forceful.

I try to get up just at the same time as he does, and we somehow bang heads, which hurts and there it is. My disaster for today was reserved for me after all; I sprawl flat on my ass.

My elbows throb from the violent contact with the hard floor, but I'm too busy to worry about that over the sheer force of embarrassment flooding over me. He has somehow managed to maintain his balance and remain in the crouch, which he now moves from and comes to help me up. He holds out a hand, exposing, unsurprisingly, expensive looking onyx cuff links and the Chopard L.U.C Tourbillon Baguette watch, which I know are only 25 in the world and ridiculously expensive because Stanton wanted to buy one too.

I debate refusing to accept it, but it wasn't his fault after all. I accept and he holds my hand tight. I gasp as I feel an electric current flow through his palm into mine. _Just static_ , I think and manage to get up with his help.

"Are you all right?"

His voice is so smooth, with a rasp. I don't know why but it makes me blush. Yes, I do know why actually. His voice is sexy. Unbelievably sexy, it makes me want to listen to him take my name, and just keep talking and talking. Is it possible for a voice to sound like sex? If it is, then his would be it.

I still avoid looking at him and manage to let out a weak, "I'm fine, Thanks." I notice how he doesn't apologize, it wasn't his mistake after all. Yet, it makes me feel like he's very practical and makes my fall look only worse. I want to look at him. I like looking at beautiful things or people, but I've made too big of a fool of myself. I just need to get out of here now.

He bends down and retrieves the ID card I haven't realized I dropped and he offers it to me, kneeling before me. I will have to look at him now and I do. It's as if he was waiting for it. We make eye-contact and there it is, that connection I felt earlier that made me look away. He looks at me with something resembling concern now. "Are you sure you're all right? You should sit down for a minute."

I feel like he's teasing me, like he finds me more and more amusing with each passing minute. Well news flash, I'm not here for his amusement, and the more he behaves this way, the stronger is my resolve to bolt. I take my ID from him and say, "I'm okay. Just lost my balance."

"I'm sorry, I didn't realize you were getting up," he says and I feel a hundred times more comfortable. Sorry, thank you and please, the three magic words, literally have a magical effect on me. I give them away freely and feel like the person who says it is a lot more accessible.

"It wasn't your fault, really. I didn't see you get up either." I say and in a sudden moment of bravery I look at him and smile. I don't wait to see whether he smiles back or not and look away towards the woman who started this whole bandwagon.

She is thanking the guard who helped her and turns to approach me, apologizing profusely. I face her and smile starting to say it was not a problem when she looks at the man behind me and promptly forgets about me. I shake my head a little, amused at the way she behaves but then I realize he had a very similar effect on me a few seconds ago. I dump the change into the woman's bag while she's thanking him and chance a look at him. He is still looking at me! I raise my eyebrows, shrug, and in a final act of the cool façade to keep some of my dignity intact, I put on my headphones and walk towards the door. I get out, walk a few paces, and stop to breath. _Those were the most unnerving 2 minutes of my life_.

There is a black SUV in front of the building and I see my reflection in the spotless tinted windows. I am flushed and my grey eyes look too bright. I can feel my heart pumping blood faster than ever before. It's been forever since a man has had that effect on me and I look at myself and smile. Maybe I was a mess, maybe he is in there laughing at me, maybe it was all a big joke to him, but you can't say I don't know how to make an impression.

 **That's it for now. I hope anyone who read it, likes it. Reviews, even if bad, would mean the world to me!**

 **There are a lot of fandom references here, let's see if anyone can find them!**

 **Love to every reader and fangirl who finds herself here**


	3. Chapter 1(B)

**Hi to to all the 17 visitors who have made time to read my story and a special Hello to the one person who added it to their follow list. I can't tell you how happy these things make me. A little validation and appreciation would make my day so thank you for so much of it!**  
 **So, it's part 2 of Chapter 1 which I had to bifurcate. Right now, you will find a lot of things similar to the Original Series but I'm working on it, trying my best to give it new twists. As the story progresses, I promise I will stop going to the OG work and do only new things with very few pointers borrowed. Please give me some time, and some reviews about whether you liked this or even hated it. I'd actually love negative reviews as well.**

 **Thanks for reading this, I will always love you for it.**

I stop myself from turning towards the door, because if he is still standing there, staring at me, I will flip and tell him to quit it. But it was quite evident from his appearance that the chances were high of him being a top level Boss and I don't want to mess up with someone that big before I've even started working. So, I tell myself to get a grip and move on.

Mission to time the door to door journey has failed but at least I have a pretty good idea of the time it will take. I hit the play button on my phone and the Bohemian Rhapsody plays. I love this song so much but have to skip it because I will definitely start singing it out loud and I don't want to do that because it will look crazy while walking on the street. Next up is Maroon 5's Sugar, which again I love. Swaying just a little to the beat, I start walking back home.

Horns blare as one cab darts in front of another with inches to spare and then slams the brakes as a hopeful pedestrian steps into the intersection merely seconds before the light changes. A few not so polite words are exchanged which follows both the not-so-gentle-men going their own separate ways.

I smile and move away from the scene of this occurrence. It's funny how no one here knows me and I don't know anyone either but frustration and agitation brings everyone together. Maybe, it won't be so bad after all.

My smile widens into the weirdest Cheshire cat like grin when I notice a bookstore across the street. Books are another thing that make me feel at home anywhere. I run across the street, much like the hopeful pedestrian, but it's possible for me since the traffic has come to a standstill. Not a standstill per say but stuck in a jam. I have eyes only for my destination though. It stands there, ignored, between a chain restaurant and newspaper stand and it is not very big. I move towards the store, not a Barnes and Noble, but an old type book store. I don't even notice its name. I open the door, a bell tings, and I'm transported to my safe haven.

The smell in bookstores is beautiful! Always gets to me. I look around, wide-eyed, trying to get an estimated idea of how big the place is but it's not very vast but it is cosy and I love it! I reach the first shelf in my sight and it's the 'Most Popular' category. I beam with somewhat pride when I notice that I have read almost every book on this particular shelf! It's not that I only like contemporary work and avoid classics, but my aim is to read every book ever written so I figured it's better to read the old ones occasionally but keep up with the new ones as well. i see up the book I last read, Go Set a Watchman. I pick it up, experiencing the weird urge people sometimes have at bookstores, to pick up a favourite book that they've already read. That's when I feel someone touch my shoulders. I turn, take off my headphones and for a split second think it's going to be the man from Crossfire but obviously, it's not. It's a totally different man.

"Hi, I'm Brian. I called you a few times but you couldn't hear me, because of the headphones, I reckon"

"Hey Brian, I"m Zoe. And sorry about that. When I"m listening to music, there could be the Armageddon happening behind me and i wouldn't notice. You work here?

"You could say that. I actually own this bookstore and noticed you walk in, looking star struck. Am I to assume that you enjoy reading?"

"Enjoy is too small a word for what I feel about reading. Books and I, we go way back." I say smiling at him. He's a stranger but there's a very friendly air about him.

He is tall, and heavyset and wears geeky looking rimmed glasses that really suit him. His dark brown eyes and wide smile would make anyone feel instantly comfortable. Which makes sense since likeability is a very essential quality in a bookstore owner or a librarian. I would know, my middle school librarian showed me the power of stories and it helped me a lot.

"That's nice to hear coming from a young woman like yourself." He says, while I notice he's not that much older than me. I assume he takes this tone with everyone and play along with it.

"I regret to accept that my generation is divided into two very opposite groups. First, who love reading and can't stop doing it no matter what and the second, who never read and only wait for the movie which will surely come someday."

This makes him laugh and I feel the little joy I always feel when I know I've been the reason for someone's happiness. My past and my insecurities because of it have only made me more and more resolute to spread as much joy as I can. I like making people smile and laugh, I like making them feel happy, and I like when I know that I've been the least bit helpful.

He observes the book in my hand. "Ah. That's a very good read. It's a sequel to"

"To Kill a Mockingbird. Yes, I know. I've read both of them actually. Brilliantly written, and it's technically a prequel. Harper Lee herself referred to it as the parent draft."

"Yes, that's absolutely correct!" He looks at me like he's deciding something and makes up his mind evidently because then he says, "We run a little book club. It's more like a meet-up or discussion, you could call it. It's not much, but is made up of the people who've been loyal and dedicated readers over the many years this store has been here."

"Many years?" I ask because despite his young woman statement, I'm sure he's not very old.

"Yes, my father ran it before me and his father before him. We've been here for more than a few decades in fact. That's the reason why we still work, and haven't been replaced by all these other book stores that are bigger and better than us. We have loyal people here."

"You keep the meet-up here?" I ask since this place is too small for a meet-up of any kind.

"No, not here. There is a studio in Brooklyn, not far from where I live, where we have them. It's on rent, usually used for addict-meetings, but it's ours on Thursdays and sometimes on Mondays as well. You should join in. It would be great to have someone new who knows about classics as well as modern literature."

"Just one question. How do I sign up?"

* * *

The apartment smells blissful when I get back home and Adele is crooning melodiously through the surround sound speakers about chasing pavements. I think, not for the first time, how gorgeous this apartment is and how I would like to buy one like this for myself with my money. I look across the room towards the open kitchen and see Cary swaying to the music while stirring something on the fireless magnetic stove. There is an open bottle of wine on the counter and one glass, half-filled with red wine.

"Hey," I call out as I get closer. "What's cooking? And do I have time to shower first?"

"Pasta with meat sauce. And hold the shower, dinner's almost ready." He holds up the wine bottle and says teasingly, "Care for some?"

"Only if its blood. I think it's time I got my monthly vampire fix."

He rolls his eyes but I see the corner of his mouth go up a little. He's always teasing me about being an abnormal nerd but the truth is, he is the only one who sees this side of me. I'm comfortable exclusively with him to unleash my full nerdiness on. And he won't accept it, but he does like and enjoy it, or else he wouldn't have come for the Deathly Hallows part two premier with me dressed as a rather stunning Draco Malfoy.

He takes another glass for me and pours out my favourite Suja juice, Vanilla Cloud flavour in it from the refrigerator and slides it across the bar to me, his movements elegant and at ease. No one who looked at him would be able to guess that he had spent his entire childhood bouncing between a drug-addicted mother and foster homes, followed by adolescence in juvenile detention facilities and state-run rehabs. "How was the walk?" he asks.

I pull one of the teakwood barstools and sit. "The walk was great, and guess what? I found this really great bookstore on the way back." I tell him all about Brian and the book club. "Wanna come with me?"

"Book club?" Cary shook his head. "That's not possible knowing that I have read only 3 books over the course of my life. Plus, there'll be nerds there. I can't have them fawning over my Darcy good looks and it would hurt me to break their hearts when they realize that the modern Darcy isn't even straight."

"Ha-ha, you're so hilarious, Cary. I feel you'd be more of a Collins though, if we had to place you somewhere."

"Who is that again?" he asks knowing full well who Collins was, Pride and Prejudice being one of the three books that he had read. "So, was he cute?"

"Huh? How do you know about him?" I am thinking of the Greek God.

"Only because you just told me about him. Are you alright?"

"Oh, you mean Brian. Yes, he was rather cute. Very friendly and nice."

"Maybe I will come then one day just to check it out, in case the guy's a wack."

I watch him dump the pasta into a waiting colander. "A wack, huh?'

My dad had taught me to read people, especially men, pretty well. That's how I know that the Greek God was not your average man. I still remember his gaze on me. Penetrating, strong and unsettling. I still can't figure out what brought that on.

"Baby girl, you're a strong, independent and rather stunning woman. I question any man who doesn't have the balls to ask you outright for a date."

"Maybe that's not what is on everyone's mind when they meet people, Cary. He was being pleasant and welcoming, trying to get me comfortable. Even if he was thinking about it, I'm sure he isn't the kind who would directly bounce on me. I hate the men who make a woman feel like they just have one purpose to serve in a man's life."

"I know that. One of the many reasons why I respect and adore you."

He notices the change in my voice. He always handles situations when I know I get unreasonably intense because of men's attitudes. After a certain man in my life, I've learnt not to respect the kind that disrespect woman.

He sets out a bowl in front of me with a smile to judge whether I'm out of that zone, and I smile back genuinely to show him I really am okay. I look at the bowl which contains tiny tubes of salad noodles covered in a skimpy tomato sauce with lumps of ground beef and peas. My stomach groans in approval at the not so great sight which just shows how hungry I am.

He gets the sign and moves to the next thing on his mind, much to my chagrin.

"So let's move to the real topic that needs discussion. Tell me about the man you thought I was referring to before, when I asked about Brian."

Hmmm. I catch the handle of my spoon sticking out of the bowl and decide not to comment on the food, it won't divert his mind. "I think I ran into the hottest man on earth today. Maybe the hottest man to ever have existed."

"Oh? I thought I was the hottest man in the history of mankind. Do tell me more." Cary stays on the other side, preferring to stand and eat.

I take a bite of the concoction and find it's not really bad after all. Or maybe I was just too hungry but I take another and start talking. "There isn't much to tell, really. Except that I fell on my ass in my Office lobby and he helped me get up."

"Tall or short? Blonde or dark? Built or lean? Eye colour?"

I take a sip of the juice and think about him again. It is quite pleasing to just think about him, and in my imagination, I've not made a complete fool of myself. It should be illegal to look that good. I bet he knows that and hence the judgmental stare that I was being subjected to.

"Tall. Dark. Lean _and_ built. Blue eyes. Filthy rich, judging by his clothes and accessories. And he was insanely sexy. He had the looks, the aura, and the voice, of all things. He was just perfection."

Cary sets his elbows on the counter, leaning in towards me mysteriously and says, "So what happened after he helped you up?"

I shrug. "Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"Well, I left so nothing could have happened."

"What? You didn't flirt with him?"

"Flirting comes to me as easily as humility comes to you."

"You could have done something. Talked to him, in your own weird jerky manner. Something to take this further."

"I didn't really want to, take anything further, did I. Also, he wasn't the kind of guy you flirt with, even in my own weird jerky way." I say, with the last part in quoty fingers.

"There is no such thing as a guy who you can't flirt with. Even the happily married ones enjoy a little harmless flirtation now and then."

"He was obviously at a top managerial position, and that's the very least. He didn't seem like a harmless guy either."

"Ahh. The 'I knew you were trouble' kind of guy. You do like the Bad Boys from all you imaginary worlds. Why not just go for it? For once, act on the impulse"

He knows I never do that. I never act on an impulse. I think and think and overthink and never make hasty decisions. I have thought about dating at length as well. It's not that I don't want to date or see a guy or be in a relationship. It's just that right now, I need to focus on my work, career, and making a place for myself in this city without the restriction of being committed to someone, doesn't matter to how small a degree.

"Too much to do, too little time for all this. Didn't I just tell you about the awesome book club I'm going to join?" I say trying to change the topic and moving on with what I love. I'm almost done with dinner and Dr. Hannibal Lecter is waiting for me. "You have any go-sees tomorrow?"

"Of course." Cary starts talking about his schedule for tomorrow which includes a jeans advertisement, self-tanner, underwear, and cologne. I'm sure he will get all of them. His success is growing by the minute and everyone wants his beautiful body and face to work for their product. His professional attitude and hard work is also working in his favour and making him easy to work with, which only gets him more and better offers. I am so proud of him and happy as if his success is my own, but it isn't. Cary has come a long way and it is all him. All because he wanted to.

I clean up my plates and move towards my room when I notice the two large gift boxes propped against the side of the sofa.

"Wow. What are those? You're getting gifts already?" I say, teasing him now.

"Those are the ultimate, unlike your sense of humour." He says, getting in the living room himself.

Oh. I realize they're from Stanton. I don't like him giving me extravagant gifts without an occasion but he won't stop. My mother needs money for survival, it's essential for her and I'm fine with her needs. In fact, I'm as happy as I can be about the fact that Stanton, husband number 3, is not only giving her money but loves her as well. She is truly happy with him because he make sure she gets all she wants. But they don't realize money is not an essential for me and they think spending cash makes me happy. I don't say I don't like gifts that cost a bomb but something random makes me feel obligated and I don't like that feeling.

Cary notices my sentiment like he always does, without me needing to mention it. "Don't be ungrateful. He loves spoiling your mom, and your mom loves spoiling you. As much as you don't like it, he doesn't do it for you. He does it for her."

"Touché." I say and ask. "What are they anyway?"

"Glam threads for the advocacy centre's fundraiser dinner on Saturday. A bombshell dress for you and a Brioni tux for me, because spoiling me is what he does for you. You're more tolerant if you have me around to listen to you bitch."

Stanton is really awesome like that. Being a super-mega-multi-billionaire he knows what everyone needs and does his best to keep his people happy. I appreciate that.

"Let me guess. It must be a really hot dress with no back, low neckline and a long slit? I mean, in short, exactly the kind of dress I won't wear."

"You're already bitching like they knew you would. There is a dress similar to what you described but also another one. You know they would both look amazing on you and you know your mom would be very happy if you wore the former. You're gorgeous, Baby Girl. She would like to show you off to the world."

"Hmmm. It all depends on my mood on the judgment day. I gotta watch my show now. Bye, good night." I say choosing to postpone the problem of making a choice for as long as possible.

* * *

I reach office at ten minutes to nine the next day and congratulate myself on making it before time. Being my first day, I've gone simple yet striking on my appearance (Cary's words make zero sense to me). A simple navy blue sheath dress with black pumps (that I changed for my walking shoes on the elevator ride up) and my blonde hair twisted up in an artful chignon courtesy of Cary along with the small pearl studs my dad had given me as a graduation gift and the beautiful Rolex from Stanton and my mom, also a graduation gift. I thought I looked a little over the top but that doubt was cleared as soon as I had entered the building. The security guards didn't recognize me for the homeless woman that walked in yesterday and everyone looked so well groomed, I was glad I took this much effort.

Twenty floors later, I am exiting into the vestibule of Waters Field & Leaman. The receptionist, who I know from the interviews, opens the glass doors to the entrance as I hold up the badge.

"Hi, Megumi," I greet her when I step inside. She's very pretty, a little bit Asian for sure with dark hair cut into a sleek bob, sloe eyes brown and warm, and lips full and naturally pink.

"Zoe, hi. Mark's not in yet, but you know where you're going, right?"

"Absolutely." I wave and move towards the hallway on the left and keep walking till the end where I take another left and go towards my new cubicle. I drop my purse and the bag holding my walking shoes into a drawer in my utilitarian metal desk; then boot up my computer. I pull out the things that I brought to personalize my desk and start putting them in place. A collage of three photos-me and Cary on Coronado beach, mom and Stanton on his yacht in the French Riviera, and my dad on duty in his City of Oceanside, California, police cruiser; a colourful arrangement of glass flowers that Cary had given me today morning as a first day gift; a little TARDIS that I bought for myself a couple of years ago; and a Golden Snitch paperweight that Cary found at a garage sale somewhere and immediately bought for me.

I sit back to take in the effect when my boss calls my name.

"Good morning, Zoe."

I push to my feet and face him. "Good morning, Mr. Garrity."

"Call me Mark, please. Come on over to my office."

I follow him across the strip of hallway. He's really nice and rather easy to look at with gleaming dark skin, trim goatee, and laughing brown eyes. Mark had a square jaw and a charmingly crooked smile. He was trim and fit, and he carried himself with a confident poise that inspired trust and respect.

He gestures at one of the two seats in front of his glass and chrome desk and waits until I sit down to settle into his seat. He is a junior account manager and his office isn't that huge if compared to the executives but he did have a killer view.

"Did you get settled in your new apartment?"

I am surprised and very happy that he remembers. I feel like he will be a good boss to work with and I don't mind doing a little job for a good boss with loads to learn as opposed to what Stanton offered.

"For the most part," I answer, "still a few boxes here and there."

"You moved from San Diego, right? Nice city, but very different from New York. Do you miss the palm trees?"

"I miss the dry air. The humidity here will take some getting used to."

"Wait 'til summer hits." He smiles. "So… it's your first day and you're my first assistant, so we'll have to figure this out as we go. I'm not used to delegating, but I'm sure I'll pick it up quick."

I am instantly at ease. "I'm eager to be delegated to."

"Having you around is a big step for me, Zoe. I'd like you to be happy working here. Do you drink coffee?"

"When I work, I drink only coffee."

"Ah, an assistant after my own heart." His smile widens. "I'm not going to ask you to fetch me coffee, but I wouldn't mind if you helped me figure out how to use the new one-cup coffee brewers they just put up in the break rooms."

I grin. "No problem."

"How sad is it that I don't have anything else for you?" he rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. "Why don't I show you the accounts I'm working on and we'll move from there?"

The rest of the day passes in a blur as I see Mark touch base with two clients and attend a long meeting with the creative team working on concept ideas for a trade school. It is a fascinating process to see first-hand how various departments carry and pass the baton to make a campaign come to fruition. However, I am eager to leave since I was tense the whole day and my phone rings exactly at ten minutes to five.

"Mark Garrity's office. Zoe Tramell speaking."

"Get your ass home so we can go out for that drink you rain-checked yesterday."

Cary's mock sternness makes me smile. "All right, all right. I'm coming."

I shut down my computer and clear out. I pull out my cell phone and type a quick _'on my way'_ text to Cary. I reach the elevator bank just in time to hear a ding and move towards the elevator arriving hitting the send button on the text. The doors open and I take a step forwards to enter when I look up and stop just outside the door. I look into his blue eyes and feel my breath catch.

The elevator is empty except for one person. The Greek God.

 ******************************************************************************************************************It's very long, I know, but I need to cover so many things! I shall however, write faster and better.**

 **Please read and review!**


	4. Chapter 2

**Okay, can I just say how wonderfully happy I am? 107 views, 49 visitors, 3 wonderful followers and 1 absolutely beautiful person who added my story to the favourite list! Thank you so very much! I'm humbled, truly. Still missing a review, only one would take me over the moon too, so please if you like this or hate it, or would suggest a few improvements, do it! I may die of joy but I assure you, I will come back to life just to complete this story!**

 **Thank you and I love each person who removes time and reads this!**

 **P.S. Sylvia Day owns everything.**

What? How? Why!? My brain is busy asking these questions that I already know the answers to. It's him in the lift. He got in by pressing the buttons. Because he obviously works here.

My memory of him did him absolutely no justice. He was way more stunning than what I remember. Generally when a person imagines someone, it's always more favourable to the imaginee but somehow, I lost here. He had a gorgeous face and Jared Padalecki hair that only did justice to him and Jared. Anyone else would look ridiculous with that hair but not them. And anyone who knows me knows my feelings towards the younger Winchester. That, does not help when you come face to face with a man who also has brilliant blue eyes, also my special weakness. The way he stands, casually, with his jacket open and his hands casually in his pants' pockets, makes me reel. How is it even possible to look so casual yet so royal?

My musings have taken to long apparently, because the elevator doors begin to close. He moves forward and presses the button to keep them open. "There's plenty of room for both of us, Zoe."

He said my name, just like I wanted him to when I had first heard his voice and I like how it sounds. I feel like doing something to make him take my name again but what? But wait, how does he know my name? I guess he saw it on my ID card when it dropped the other day. The day I fell on my butt, the day I was wearing a Fandom T-shirt, the day he felt amused by me and suddenly, I don't want to look at him anymore. It's not that I dislike him, I hardly even know the guy, it's just that he makes me uncomfortable and I do that fine to myself, I don't need other people doing it to me. And that's exactly when I realise that I need to respond.

I purposely move towards the door, put my best acting face on and say in the most surprised voice, "Oh, I think I forgot my house keys in my drawer. Sorry."

I move outside and go back towards my office as soon as I say it and have no other option but to go back to my cubicle. I walk fast and avoid looking at Megumi sees who is too busy on the phone to notice me. I go back to my seat and just stare at the place for a while.

After two minutes I go back to the elevator bank and the same elevator car is still there, with him in it. He is in there, waiting for me by the looks of it, and not gone like I wanted him to. It's too late now, he has seen me, and I can't make another excuse. I smile and get into the elevator, he presses the button and I thank him.

Why did he wait? I feel like I needed to ask him this, it's a bit scary actually. But how do I do it without making it sound like I'm accusing him of waiting exclusively for me? Even if that's the truth, it would be so awkward that I'd rather just keep quiet about it. Just then he says something.

"Enjoy your first day?" What's up with this guy? How did he know it was my first day?

"I did." Inspiration strikes me, "Thank you for holding back the elevator for me." There, that sounded gratuitous, not accusatory and he could easily say any other reason, if there was one, without offending me.

"No problem. I figured you wouldn't take much time to return." Not denying, helpful, and the best I could hope for in this situation.

Awareness of his gaze on me makes the hair on the back of my neck stand but I keep looking at the elevator doors. My heart beat has quickened its pace, much like the last time we met, but I avoid it, keep calm and wait for my destination to arrive.

That takes time because on the twelfth floor, the car stops and a group of three chattering friends enter. Seizing the opportunity to put people between us and stop the staring I move towards the other end of the elevator but he moves with me and now we're next to each other and closer than I'd like. He raises his hand to adjust his tie and accidently brushes mine. Well, I say accidently but it seems intentional since his tie was already perfectly placed. I feel like I'm back in high school where boys would accidently (meaning intentionally) touch girls and that's how girls figured out that the boys liked them. But, this isn't high school, his gesture is not appreciated and what's worse is my reaction to his touch. I feel the connection, that, current again and I don't like it one bit. I make a mental note to avoid this man as much as I can. Right now, I have no room in my life for any drama, especially boy-trouble.

When the elevator reaches the lobby I move out as soon as the triplets exit but his hand settles on the small of my back and he starts walking beside me, steering me. This action, though seemingly harmless, is the most unwelcome thing he could do to me. I don't like the way he is taking authority and I think he needs to stop. But I also don't want to offend him so I pretend to search my purse for something and stop in between when at the same time, the group waiting to get on the elevator force him to break the connection and move towards the other side. The passengers pass between us, I fish out my phone and walk with him, but without the hand. If he noticed my deliberate actions, he doesn't let it show and walks with me till we reach the turnstiles.

"Zoe!"

I turn towards the voice of my best friend and absolute saviour. He is wearing fitted blue jeans and a casual white shirt and he makes it look like a million dollar attire. Cary could wear a pillow case and still look like Hercules, some people have that charm. I slow as I approach him and the Greek God passes us without a backward glance, and gets into the black SUV I'd seen yesterday evening.

Cary let out a slow whistle as the car pulled away. "Well, well. Judging by his killer looks, that was the guy you told me about, right?"

"Yeah. That was him."

"You work together?" Cary says while pulling me out on the curb, where I need to stop to change into my walking shoes. I hold on to him for support and hop on one feet to another while changing.

"Oh hell no. I don't even know who he is, but he seems to know a couple of things about me so I better figure out who he is."

"What does he know? Anything serious?"

"Na. Nothing suspicious. Yet it would prevent awkward conversations if I knew him."

"How does anyone manage to work with him around? My brain sort of fried for a minute."

"Ha. That's a universal effect, I'm sure." I straighten. "Let's go and get you that drink."

* * *

I wake up next morning feeling a little sleepy and drowsy since I was up till 3 a.m., trying to complete The Girl on the Train. Not one bit disappointed, though I'm a bit tired of seeing characters that are totally nuts!

Though, I would have loved to sleep more, growing up as a Fangirl had given me sufficient practice to Ace on less sleep.

I reach before time today as well and Mark isn't in yet, so I go and get myself a cup of extra sweet coffee. I return, boot up my PC, and checked up the news and a few ad-biz blogs.

"Zoe!"

I jump a little as Mark appears beside me, grinning broadly, from cheek to cheek. "Good Morning, Mark."

"Is it ever? You're my lucky charm. Come into my office and bring your note-pad. Can you work late tonight?"

I pick up my note-pad, a pen, and follow him, getting a little excited myself. "Sure."

"I'd hoped you'd say that." He sinks into his chair.

I sit on the chair I occupied yesterday and open my note-pad, ready to take notes.

"So," he began, "We've received an RFP for Kingsman Vodka and they mentioned me by name. First time that's ever happened!"

What Vodka? I've never heard of it but it sure is a positive thing and more so for Mark, whose excitement is palpable. "Congratulations!"

"I appreciate that but let's save them for when we've actually landed the account. We'll still have to bid, if we get past the request for proposal stage, and they want to meet with me tomorrow evening."

"Wow. Is that timeline usual?"

"No. Usually they'd wait until we had the RFP finished before meeting with us, but Cross Industries recently acquired Kingsman and Cross has dozens of subsidiaries. That's good business if we can get it. They know it and they're making us jump through hoops, the first of which is meeting with me."

"What about a team meeting?"

"Well, usually we present as a group, right. But they're familiar with the drill and they know they'll get the pitch from a senior executive, and then end up working with a junior like me, so they picked me out and now they want to vet me. But to be fair, the RFP provides a lot more information than it asks for in return. It's as good as a brief, so I really can't accuse them of being unreasonably demanding, just meticulous. Par for the course when dealing with Cross Industries."

Something clicks. "Wait, Cross Industries own this building, right?"

"Yes. They have their head office here as well. Makes it only easier to work, don't you think?"

I nod at the impressive scope this request for proposal will bring us. If this clicks, we'll not only be dealing with serious big-shots but it will also add a lot of credit to our Agency.

This is not lost on Mark. He runs a hand over his tight curls, betraying the pressure he is surely feeling. "What do you think of Kingsman vodka?"

"Uh….." Should fake it or be truthful? "Honestly, I've never heard of it." I say choosing the latter.

Mark falls back on his chair, laughing. "Thank God. I thought I was the only one. Well, the plus side is there's no bad publicity to deal with. No news can be good news."

"True. What can I do to help? Besides research vodka and stay late?"

His lips purse a moment as he thought about this. "Jot this down…."

We worked straight through lunch, completely forgetting about it, and the office has emptied long back. We went through some initial data from the strategists, which admittedly didn't look very positive, and need severe upliftment. Mark's smartphone rings at a little after seven, startling me with its abrupt intrusion in the dead silence.

Mark activates the speaker and keeps working. "Hey, baby."

"Have you fed the poor girl yet?" demanded a warm masculine voice over the line.

Mark glances at me through his glass office wall. "Ah….I forgot."

I look away quickly, biting my lower lip trying to hide my smile and save him some embarrassment.

A snort comes clearly across the line. "Only two days on the job and you're already overworking her and keeping her hungry. She's going to quit."

"Shit, you're right. Steve, honey-"

"Don't 'Steve honey' me. Does she like Chinese?"

I look at him and nod eagerly.

He grins. "Yes, she does."

"All right. I'll be there in twenty. Let security know I'm coming."

Almost exactly twenty minutes later, I buzz Steven Ellison through the waiting area doors. He was a juggernaut of a fellow, dressed in dark jeans, scuffed work boots, and a neatly pressed button-down shirt. Red-haired with laughing blue eyes, he was as good-looking as his partner was, just in a very different way. The three of us sit around Mark's desk and dump kungpao chicken and broccoli beef onto paper plates, adding helpings of sticky white rice, and then dig in with chopsticks.

As we talk, I learn that Steven is a contractor, and that he and Mark have been a couple since college. I watch them interact and feel awe and a dash of envy. Their relationship is so beautifully functional that it is a joy to spend time with them.

I am hungry, to say the very least, and that shows plenty. "Damn, girl," Steven says with a whistle, as I go for a third helping. "You can put it away. Where does it go?"

I shrug. "I have a fast metabolism. Never put on weight, it was quite disconcerting at first, especially for my mom, but after meeting several doctors, it's confirmed to be just a case of me being unable to retain all this food. Suits me fine, because I love to eat, if that isn't obvious."

"Don't mind him," Mark says, grinning. "Steven's just jealous. He has to watch his girlish figure."

"Hell." Steven shoots his partner a wry look. "I might have to take her out to lunch with the crew. I could win money betting on how much she can eat."

I smile. "That could be fun."

"Ha. I knew you had a bit of a wild streak. It's in your smile."

Looking down at my food, I refuse to let my mind wander into memories of just difficult it had been at one point in my life to even be able to open up to strangers. Far from wild, I was the worst kind of introvert.

Mark comes to my rescue. "Don't harass my assistant. And what do you know about wild women anyway?"

"I know some of them like hanging out with gay men. They like our perspective." His grin flashes. "I know a few other things, too. Hey...don't look so shocked, you two. I wanted to see if hetero sex lived up to the hype."

Clearly this is news to Mark, but from the twitching of his lips, he is secure enough in their relationship to find the whole exchange amusing."Oh?"

"How'd that work out for you?" I ask bravely.

Steven simply shrugs. "I don't want to say it's overrated, 'cause clearly I'm the wrong demographic and I had a very limited sampling, but I can do without."

It's very telling how Steven is using words like demographic and sampling, which are associated with Mark's career, to tell his story. They both seem to be able to understand each other's work, even though their careers are miles apart. It must be because of the perfectly healthy communication they share, they are quickly becoming my real-life OTP.

"Considering your present living arrangement," Mark says to him, catching up a stem of broccoli with his chopsticks, "I'd say that's a very good thing."

 _This is what a perfectly healthy relationship looks like_ , I think at Mark's response.

We finish eating by eight and the cleaning crew has arrived. Mark insists on calling me a cab which I thankfully accept.

"Should I come in early tomorrow?" I ask, just as I'm about to leave.

Steven bumps shoulders with Mark. "You must've done something good in a past life to score this one."

"I think putting up with you in this life qualifies," Mark says dryly.

"Hey," Steven protests, "I'm housebroken. I put the toilet seat down."

Mark shoots me an exasperated look that is warm with affection for his partner. "And that's helpful how?"

* * *

Mark and I scramble all Thursday to get ready for his four o'clock with the team from Kingsman. We grab an information-packed lunch with the two creatives who will be participating in the pitch when it gets to that point in the process; then we go over the notes on Kingsman's Web presence and existing social media outreach.

The good thing is since the Head Office of Cross Industries is in this very building, we can leave just ten minutes before the meeting and still be there before time. The bad thing is, it does not help with my nerves. It's a very important day for not only our Agency or Mark but also for me. My first assignment as an assistant had to be successful because, other than many other reasons, it would be too disheartening to see Mark disappointed after all the hard work he has put in.

At quarter to four, Mark bounds out of his office with a broad smile, shrugging into his jacket. "Join me, Zoe."

I blink up at him from my desk. "Really?"

"Hey, you worked hard on helping me prep. Don't want you want to see how it goes?"

"Yes, absolutely." Wow! I am having major anxiety but I can't deny the fact that attending such a meeting, so soon in my vocation, would be unbelievably helpful and more so since I actually worked on this and have some knowledge about the product. I push to my feet, smooth my black pencil skirt, and straighten the cuffs of my long-sleeved silk blouse. By a lucky twist of fate, my crimson shirt perfectly matches Mark's tie. "Thank you."

We head out to the elevators and go up, to the top floor. The waiting area we step into is considerably larger and more ornate than the one on the twentieth. Hanging baskets of ferns and lilies fragrance the air and a smoky glass security entrance is sandblasted with Cross Industries in a bold font.

We are buzzed in, and then asked to wait a moment. Both of us decline an offer of water or coffee, and within five minutes, we are directed to a closed conference room.

Mark looks at me with twinkling eyes as the receptionist reached for the door handle. "Ready?"

I smile, nervous and excited. "Ready."

The door opens and I am gestured in first. I make sure to smile brightly as I step inside...a smile that froze on my face at the sight of the man rising to his feet at my entrance.

 _You have got to be kidding me, it's him. Again him_! The Greek God smiles at me as he gets up. I almost groan out loud but manage to keep smiling and move into the room. Would it be weird if I sit and bang my head on the table a couple of times?

It is a feat that I mange to still keep standing because my legs have been cast with the Jelly Legs jinx I feel. I'm already nervous around him, he's looking at me like he was waiting for this, not to forget he is looking drop-dead gorgeous again, it's probably one of the biggest projects I will ever work on, and I need to concentrate for Mark's sake. Great! Just Fantastic!

"Hello again," he says, offering his hand to me, the vibration of his voice making me think how has he not yet been approached to do audiobooks? Then again, maybe he has. I don't really know squat about him. "Always a pleasure running into you, Zoe."

I move towards him and very inconspicuously wipe my hands on my skirt before accepting his hand, as I know it must be sweaty. I sweat when I'm nervous. "Thank you. It's a always pleasure to meet you too." I say trying to sound as formal as it is possible to sound. Also, I have no clue as to who he is. I knew this would happen and I curse myself at not trying to figure out his position here. This is just the kind of situation I was worried about.

"Mr. Cross," Mark says behind me. "Thank you for giving us your time."

"Mr. Garrity, I've been looking forward to it." They shake hands as my mind puts two and two together.

Mr. Cross? Gideon Cross? The man who owns this building, Cross Industries, and probably one-third of the city? I had guessed that he was at a top position here but I couldn't have been more wrong. He is not at the top position, he is THE TOP POSITION! The biggest Boss!

I'm feeling faint, this is too much information to process in too short a time. It's like finding out that your hateful Potions professor was the helpful Half-Blood Prince. I think it shows on my face because Mark moves towards me and places a hand gently on my elbow, to steady me.

I get my wits together and notice that Cross's gaze stays focused on Mark's hand at my elbow until I am released.

"Right. Okay then." Mark introduces me. "This is my assistant, Zoe Tramell."

"We've met." Cross pulled out the chair next to his. "Zoe."

I look at Mark for guidance, approval really, is it normal decorum for Assistants to sit next to the Big Bosses? If it is, then that's quite ridiculous.

Noticing my hesitation, Cross leans closer and orders quietly, "Sit, Zoe."

I am just about to tell him, politely of course, that it would be better if I sit next to MY Boss but I notice Mark give a brief nod. Can't argue with him, can I? So I quietly sit in the seat designated to me.

I try not to fidget for the next hour as Mark is grilled by Cross and the two Kingsman directors, both of whom are very attractive brunettes in elegant pantsuits. The one in raspberry, I observe, is especially enthusiastic about garnering Cross's attention, while the one in cream is focused intently on my boss. All three seem impressed by Mark's ability to articulate how the agency's work - and his facilitation of it with the client - created provable value for the client's brand.

Mark remained cool and calm under pressure - pressure exerted by Cross, who easily dominates the meeting. Admiration for my new boss fills me; he truly deserves this project and hopefully many more.

"Well done, Mr. Garrity," Cross praises lightly as they wrap things up. "I look forward to going over the RFP when the time comes. What would entice you to try Kingsman, Zoe?" The intensity of his gaze is searing. It feels as if his entire focus is on me, which only reinforces my respect for Mark, who had to work under the weight of that stare for an hour.

Cross's chair is set perpendicular to the length of the table, facing me head-on. His right arm rests on the smooth wooden surface, his long elegant fingers stroking rhythmically along the top. A perfect picture of power and control.

Startled, I blink. "Um," I fumble a little, trying to formulate an answer. "I think the idea of sexy luxury on a budget will appeal to the largest demographic. Personally, I would be highly intrigued and impressed by the idea of a new player in the market that has the confidence to aim for long term consumers."

He smiles at this and I see Mark look very happy at my response.

"I agree." Cross stands and buttons his jacket. "You have a direction, Mr. Garrity. We'll revisit next week."

I sit for a moment, stunned by the breakneck pace of events. Then I look at Mark, who seems to be wavering between astonished joy and bewilderment.

Rising to my feet, I lead the way to the door. I am hyperaware of Cross walking beside me. The way he moves, with animal grace and arrogant economy, is, quite frankly, a major turn-on. However, his attitude confuses me and that is a major turn-off.

Cross stays with me all the way to the bank of elevators. He says a few things to Mark about sports, I think, but I am too focused on the way I am reacting to him to care about the small talk. When the car arrives, I breathe a sigh of relief and hastily step forward with Mark.

"A moment, Zoe," Cross says smoothly, holding me back with a hand at my elbow. "She'll be right down," he tells Mark, as the elevator doors close on my boss's astonished face.

Cross says nothing until the car is on its way down; then he pushes the call button again and asks, "Are you sleeping with anyone?"

The question is asked so casually it takes me a second to process what he'd said.

I inhale sharply. "I'm sorry Mr. Cross, I don't see how this question is in any way related to the assignment we are being given."

"It isn't. But I want to fuck you, Zoe. I need to know what's standing in my way, if anything."

 _I love my job so far. Mark is the greatest Boss ever! Leaving this place would only mean I may have to deign to Stanton and accept something he gives. I love it here.  
_ I chant this in my head once because the urge to turn and slap him right across the face is just too high. If it was someone else, if I was a little braver, if the situation was different, I would have given him a memento on his face and piece of my mind in his head. Instead, I just stick to the latter.

"Maybe because it is highly inappropriate? Maybe because your approach is insulting, to say the least. But mostly, I think it's because I'm just not interested, Mr. Cross."

A ghost of a smile touches his lips and makes him look wicked. I need him to understand that this is not a struggle for power. I'm not playing hard to get.

Before I can say anything, there's the ding that signals the approaching elevator. I've never been so offended by someone. Honestly speaking, I've rarely ever felt offended by anyone but this hits a spot. Treating a woman like a vagina with legs is wrong in itself but doing that to an employee? Maybe it's not that bad, maybe it's good that he's being so open about what he wants but this is no way to ask for it. He's the most gorgeous man ever but I'm sure even he hasn't gotten away with something like this before. And if he has, then I'll not be another woman that bends for his needs.

I step into the elevator and face him.

He smiles and says, "Until next time, Zoe." Which only makes me want to flip him the bird.

The doors close and I sag into the brass handrail, trying to regain my bearings. Should I tell Mark about this? Should I file a complaint? Who will I complain to? He owns this godforsaken place! Plus he hasn't really done anything yet. And who will believe me when pitched against Gideon Cross? I'm thinking all of this, when the doors open and reveal Mark pacing in the waiting area on our floor.

"Jesus, Zoe," he mutters, coming to an abrupt halt. "What the hell was that?"

"I have no freakin' clue." I exhale in a rush, wishing I could share the confusing, irritating exchange I'd had with Cross, but well aware that he couldn't really do anything about it. I'm giving him a chance of plausible deniability till I decide on what to do. "Who cares? You know he's going to give you the account."

A grin chases away his frown. "I'm thinking he might."

"As my roommate always says, you should celebrate. Should I make dinner reservations for you and Steven?"

"Why not? Pure Food and Wine at seven, if they can squeeze us in. If not, surprise us."

We barely return to Mark's office when he is pounced on by the executives - Michael Waters, the CEO and president, and Christine Field and Walter Leaman, the executive chairman and vice chairman.

I greet them formally and walk away leaving the four of them to discuss the meeting, and slide into my cubicle.

I call Pure Food and Wine and beg for a table for two. Thankfully, after some serious grovelling and pleading, the hostess finally caves.

I leave a message on Mark's voice mail, "It's definitely your lucky day. You're booked for dinner at seven. Have fun and give my regards to Steven!"

Then I clock out, eager to get home.

* * *

"He said what?" Cary is sitting on the opposite end of our white sectional sofa and he shakes his head.

"I know, right?" I take another sip of my tea. I brewed it the first thing after I got home. Cary knew something was up because usually it's juice. Tea is my comfort drink. He didn't ask what was wrong till I had a perfect, sweet and strong mug full of tea in my hand. "That was my reaction, too. I mean, I know he's super rich and super powerful, but imagine his audacity saying that to me right at his workplace just after we'd finished a meeting. I mean his staff was around, for heaven's sake."

"So?"

I tuck my legs beneath me on the couch and lean into the corner. "So what?"

"You know what, Zoe." Grabbing his netbook off the coffee table, Cary props it on his crossed legs. "Are you going to tap that or what?"

"No I'm not going to 'tap that'. I don't even know him, Cary. Just because he's gorgeous or a billionaire doesn't mean he can ask people if they're sleeping with anyone."

He starts typing on his keyboard. "And what about the thing with the vodka? Asking for your boss in particular?"

The hair I was running through my loose hair stills. "Mark is very talented. He got the project because of that, it has nothing to do with me. And if it does, the only thing he is getting out of it is Mark's brilliant brain, which should be his only objective."

"I'd say he generally has his objectives sorted. He has people to handle marketing for his subsidiaries. Probably dozens of people to handle it. Theres only one understandable reason why he's getting personally involved in this deal"

"Stop talking, Cary. I don't give a shit what he generally does or doesn't do."

Cary presses on. "He's hot, rich, and wants to jump your bones. What's the problem?"

I look at him. "The problem is that I don't want a relationship right now. The problem is that his approach has made me feel like he doesn't respect me. The problem, Cary, is that even if he just wants sex, there were a thousand better ways to ask for it. And imagine that! If I say yes, I'd be running into him all the time. It would be awkward, to say the very least. I'm hoping to hang on to my job for a long time. I really like it. I really like Mark. He's totally involved me in the process and I've learned so much from him already. I don't want anything to screw it up"

"I'm just trying to see it from a different point of view. Remember what Dr. Travis says about calculated risks? When your shrink tells you to take some, you should take some. You can deal with it. You and Cross are both adults. Your past doesn't have to dictate your future." He turns his attention back to his Internet search. "Wow. Did you know he doesn't turn thirty for another two years? Think of the stamina."

"Think of the rudeness. I'm affronted at how he just threw it out there. I hate feeling like an object. I don't want a proper relationship, what with the new job and new city. Forget this Fifty-shades kind. And I'm not letting my past dictate anything. I'm only trying to not repeat mistakes. That's what the past is for, to learn. Dr. Travis says that too"

Cary pauses and looks up at me, his eyes softening with sympathy. "I'm sorry, baby girl. You're so strong, so much stronger than I am. I just don't see you carrying around the baggage I do."

"I don't think I am strong, most of the time." I look away because I don't want to talk about what we've been through in our pasts. "It's not like I wanted him to ask me out on a date. But this is not the correct way to tell a woman you want to take her to bed."

"You're right. He's an arrogant douche. Let him lust after you until he has blue balls. Serves him right."

That makes me smile. Cary could always do that. "I doubt that man has ever had blue balls in his life, but it's a fun fantasy."

He shuts his netbook with a decisive snap. "What should we do tonight?"

"I was thinking of going to the book-club meeting I told you about. Maybe buy a few books on my way back. Books, where the world is ideal and no one is an asshole."

 **There. That took a little while but I'm kind of happy with the result. I hope you liked it. If you did, read and review please. If you didn't, read and review please!**


	5. Chapter 3

**Hi guys!**

 **I'm so sorry I took so long to do this, I'm having a hard time recently with college and work. I'm here now with a new installment that I quite enjoyed writing. Now, I have gathered from a few comments that Zoe comes across as stuck-up. I would like to justify that by saying Yes, she is. She is an introvert and the sassy kind, of course she is stuck up. Or maybe she tries to look like that? I don't know, I'm discovering her with you!**

 **Shout-out** **to the 4 reviewers, 5 followers and 2 people who Favorited this! You have no idea how much that pushes me to keep writing. I hope you like this one!**

"There's no way your mom and Stanton are going to let you come out here at night multiple times a week," Cary said, hugging his stylish denim jacket around him even though it wasn't more than slightly chilly.

The studio Brian uses for his meet-ups is a brick-faced building in a formerly industrial area of Brooklyn presently struggling to revitalize. The space is vast, divided into smaller rooms, and the massive metal delivery-bay doors offered no exterior clue as to what was taking place inside. There are a number of middle-aged people roaming around, discussing stuff amongst themselves and eating food kept on the table across. Cary and I stand near the door, attracting a few smiles, but no one moves towards us. Maybe this was a bad idea. Book readers are generally pretty snobbish by principle and perhaps not very welcoming but I will attend at least one of these sessions.

"What they don't know won't hurt them, Cary."

"So you will lie?" He glanced at me. "Seriously. You can't lie to save your life. And even if by some miracle you manage to do so, your stepdad will find out. He always does."

"That's because of my mom; she tells him everything. But I'm not telling her about this."

"Why not?"

"She won't understand. She'll think I am becoming reclusive again, attending therapy of sorts, she'll feel guilty and give me grief about it. She won't believe my main interest is just meeting people with common interest and some stress relief."

I look up as Brian enters the room. He looks effortlessly calm, like his whole being exudes faith and companionship. He is talking to probably the only couple present there who are my age. I think again how essential it is for someone like him to be accessible. Readers don't share their thoughts easily, you need to know how to make them speak. Cary, on the other hand, is on a completely separate train of thought.

"That Smith guy is really hot," he murmurs.

"He's also wearing a wedding band."

"I noticed. The good ones always get snatched up quick."

Brian and the couple join us. "I'm so glad you could make it, Zoe. This is Emma and Andrew Jones. They joined last month. I've been trying to expand our group. Who's your friend here?"

"Brian, Cary. Cary, Brian." I say gesturing towards each of them.

"Glad you could join us today. We discussed Gone Girl today. Read it?"

"I have. Pretty interesting choice. How do you decide what to read?'

"It's generally decided by the end of a discussion. Someone suggests, others approve. Pretty arbitrary."

"Arbitrariness is my favourite way of work."

Brian calls out across the room and everyone starts occupying the chairs. There is no pattern, everyone is sitting wherever they wish and the chaos is comforting. It is a lot better to be one of the many clueless than being the only one clueless. I end up sitting between Cary, on my right and Emma Jones on my left. Brian sits next to Cary who is excited like a 16 year old. I catch his eye and point towards my ring finger, he sticks his tongue out and ignores me further.

"Thanks for being here today, everyone. You'll notice we are joined by two new people today. Zoe and Cary will be here with us for this discussion." Brian points toward us and everyone looks at me and give a polite smile. I smile back somewhat awkwardly, Cary flashes his perfect smile and I see the effect.

"So, Julia," Brian says looking a middle aged woman sitting exactly opposite to me, "What did you think of Gone Girl?"

Julia starts off like an expert. "I thoroughly enjoyed it. So well written and well-paced, the book kept me absorbed for hours. I think how they play human psychology in this book is really smart. Shows the real crazy without being apologetic about it"

The man three seats to the left of Julia speaks up. "I agree on some points. Though the crazy part was played very well, it was somewhat unreliable and difficult to keep up with. For example the fact that Amy says she knows her husband so well, should've made it easier for her to guess that his final love plea was just an act. She fell for it, and that didn't make sense to me."

Brian looked at me. "Zoe, what did you think?"

"Um, uh…." I try to find words. I'd read this book a year ago, so had to hack my mind a little for it to make come to the surface. "I actually did not like the book that much. I mean, yes it is brilliant writing and yes it is a gripping story but for me it is essential for a book to cover a journey. Gone Girl started and ended exactly at the same points, except now a baby was a part of the craziness." A few people laughed at this and I was relieved.

I made the right decision by coming here.

* * *

Friday started out awesome. Mark walked me through the process of collecting information for an RFP, and he told me a little more about Cross Industries and Gideon Cross, pointing out that him and Cross are the same age.

"I have to remind myself of that," Mark said. "It's easy to forget he's so young when he's right in front of you."

"Yes," I agreed, absolutely elated that I wouldn't see Cross for the next two days. What surprised me, however, was that I was a little disappointed too. As much as I told myself it didn't matter, I was tad bit bummed. I hadn't realized I'd been dreading but also excited by the possibility that we might run into each other until that possibility was gone. It was just such a rush being near him. Plus he was a hell of a lot of fun to look at. I had nothing nearly as exciting planned for the weekend.

I was taking notes in Mark's office as I heard my desk phone ring. Excusing myself, I rush over to catch it. "Mark Garrity's office - "

"Zoe love. How are you?"

I sink into my chair at the sound of my stepfather's voice. Stanton always sounded like old money to me - cultured, entitled, and arrogant. "Richard. Is everything okay? Is Mom all right?"

"Yes. Everything's fine. Your mother is wonderful, as always."

His tone softens when he speaks of his wife and I am grateful for that. I am grateful to him for a lot of things actually, but it is sometimes hard to balance that against my feelings of disloyalty. I know my dad is self-conscious about the massive differences in their income brackets.

"Good," I say, relieved. "I'm glad. Did you and Mom receive my thank-you note for the dresses and Cary's tuxedo?"

"Yes, and it was thoughtful of you, but you know we don't expect you to thank us for such things. Excuse me a moment." He speaks to someone, most likely his secretary. "Zoe love, I'd like us to get together for lunch today. I'll send Clancy around to collect you."

"Today? But we'll be seeing each other tomorrow night. Can't it wait until then?"

"No, it should be today."

"Is everything okay?"

"Yes, it is just a little urgent."

"I get only an hour for lunch."

A tap on my shoulder turns me around to find Mark standing by my cubicle. "Take two," he whispers. "You earned it."

I mouth a thank you. "Will twelve o'clock work, Richard?"

"Perfectly. I look forward to seeing you."

There is no reason to look forward to private meetings like this with Stanton, but I dutifully leave just before noon and find a town car waiting for me, idling at the curb. Clancy, Stanton's driver and body guard, opens the door for me as I greet him. Then he slides behind the wheel and drives me downtown. By twenty after the hour, I am sitting at a conference table in Stanton's office, eyeing a beautifully catered lunch for two.

Stanton comes in shortly after my arrival, looking dapper and distinguished. His hair is pure white, his face lined but still very handsome. His eyes are the colour of worn blue denim, and they are sharp with intelligence. He is trim and athletic, taking the time out of his busy days to stay fit even before he'd married his trophy wife - my mom.

I stand as he approaches, and he bends to kiss my cheek. "You look lovely, Zoe."

"Thank you." I look like my mom, who is also a natural blonde. But my gray eyes come from my dad.

Taking a chair at the head of the table, Stanton is aware that the requisite backdrop of the New York skyline is behind him and he takes advantage of its impressiveness.

"Eat," he says, with the command so easily wielded by all men of power. Men like Gideon Cross. I resist the urge to roll my eyes at him. What is it with powerful men being so…..well, bossy.

I pick up my fork and start in on a chicken, cranberry, walnut, and feta salad. It is absolutely delicious, and I am hungry. I am glad Stanton didn't start talking right away so I could enjoy the meal, but the reprieve doesn't last long.

"Zoe love, I wanted to discuss your interest in the Book Club you just joined."

I freeze. "Excuse me?"

Stanton takes a sip of iced water and leans back, his jaw taking on the rigidity that warned me I wouldn't like what he was about to say. "Your mother was quite distraught last night when you went to that studio in Brooklyn. It took some time to calm her down and to assure her that I could make arrangements for you to meet proper help and pursue your interests in a safe manner. She doesn't want - "

"Wait." I set my fork down carefully, my appetite disappeared. "How did she know where I was?"

"She tracked your cell phone."

"Of course she did," I breathe, and get up from my seat. The casualness of his reply, as if it is the most natural thing in the world, makes me feel ill. My stomach is churning, suddenly more interested in rejecting my lunch than digesting it. "Oh, so that's why she insisted I use one of your company phones. It had nothing to do with saving me money."

"That was part of it. But it also gives her peace of mind."

"Peace of mind? Can't you see how wrong this is? If anything, it stresses her even more. Is she still seeing Dr. Petersen?"

He has the grace to look uncomfortable. "Yes, of course."

"Is she telling him what she's doing?"

"I don't know," he says stiffly. "That's Monica's private business. I don't interfere."

No, he didn't. He coddled her. Indulged her. Spoiled her. And allowed her obsession with my safety to run wild. "She has to learn to let it go. I've let it go."

"You were an innocent, Zoe. She feels guilty for not protecting you. We need to give her a little latitude."

"Latitude? She is stalking me! Does she not care what effect that has on me?" My mind spins. How can my mom invade my privacy like that? Why would she? She is driving herself crazy, and me along with her. "I am putting a stop to this right now, Richard."

"It's an easy fix. I've already spoken with Clancy. He'll drive you when you need to venture into Brooklyn. Everything's been arranged. This will be much more convenient for you."

"Don't try to twist this around to being for my benefit. I am big enough to know my good. What does mom think will happen? I will venture there at night and someone will hurt me? Tell her to open her eyes, night is not the only time someone can hurt someone. Rather don't or I'll be stuck with a driver 24/7." My eyes sting and my throat burns from shouting. I hate the way he talked about Brooklyn like it was a third-world country and more than that, the implication that I am intentionally not being careful. "I'm a grown woman. I make my own decisions. It's the goddamn law!"

"You need to calm down, Zoe. I'm simply looking after your mother. And you."

I stop pacing and face him. "You're enabling her. You're keeping her sick, and you're making me sick, too."

"Sit down. You need to eat. Monica worries that you're not eating healthy enough."

"She worries about everything, Richard. That's the problem. All my friends have parents who worry too but there needs to be a line drawn somewhere or she'll get sane and I will lose my mind" I push the chair back in. "I have to get back to work."

Turning away, I stride towards the door to get out as quickly as possible. I retrieve my purse from Stanton's secretary and leave my cell phone on her desk. Clancy, who is waiting for me in the reception area, follows me, and I know better than to try and blow him off. He doesn't take orders from anyone but Stanton.

Clancy drives me back up to midtown, while I stew in the backseat. I could bitch all I wanted, but in the end I wasn't any better than Stanton because I was going to give in. I was going to cave and let my mom have her way, because it hurt my heart to think of her suffering any more than she already did. She was so emotional and fragile, and she loved me to the point of being crazy about it. This time has to be different though. Cuddling, being aware, and stalking are three different things. If she had asked me straightforward, I may have told her but this snooping around is going to cause a problem.

My mood is still dark when I get back to the Crossfire. As Clancy pulls away from the curb, I stand on the crowded sidewalk and look up and down the busy street for either a drugstore where I could get some chocolate, since I am still hungry, or a cellular store where I could pick up a new phone.

I end up walking around the block and buying a half-dozen candy bars at a Duane Reade on the corner before heading back to the Crossfire. I've been gone just about an hour, but I wasn't going to use the extra time Mark had given me to roam around. Maybe watch a Supernatural episode on my PC. I needed something to distract me from my crazy-ass family.

As I catch an empty elevator car, I rip open a bar and bite viciously into it. I am making strides toward filling my self-imposed chocolate quota before I hit the twentieth floor when the car stops on the fourth. I am happy about the added time the stop gave me to enjoy the comfort of dark chocolate and caramel melting over my tongue.

The doors slide apart, and reveal Gideon Cross talking with two other gentlemen.

Just perfect.

As usual, I lose my breath at the sight of him, which reignited my fading irritation. Why does that dickwad have that effect on me? Answer, of course, is that he is hot.

He glances over and his lips curve into a slow, heart-stopping smile when he sees me.

Great. Just my crappy luck. I've become some kind of challenge.

Cross's smile fades into a frown. "We'll finish this later," he murmurs to his companions without looking away from me.

Stepping into the car, he lifts a hand to discourage them from following him. They blink in surprise, glancing at me, then Cross, and then back again.

I let him come in, wait for the last moment and dodge him to get out of the lift. It would be safer for my sanity and his ego if I took a different car up.

"Zoe!" he exclaims in surprise and presses a button on the lift which makes the doors remain open. He grabs my hand and pulls me in as the doors shut and the elevator glides smoothly into motion.

"What do you think you are doing?" I snap, shaking my hand out of his grip. After dealing with Stanton, the last thing I needed was another domineering male trying to push me around.

Cross catches me by the upper arms and searches my face with that vivid blue gaze. "Something's wrong. What is it?"

I am angry and when I am angry, my sarcasm gets worse.

"I'm sorry, I don't remember making an appointment with you, Doctor?" I regret it as soon as I say it but his reaction throws me off completely. He throws his head back and laughs. The full, throaty sound flowed over me like a rush of warm water. My awareness of him heightened to a physically painful degree. His earthy amusement made him less sex god and more human.

"How does your mind work? You're a mystery to me." His thumbs stroke over my shoulders. Releasing me, he withdraws a lone key from his pocket and plugs it into the panel. All the lights clear except for the one for the top floor.

"No. No no no no no no." I chant and move away from him. "This is really not a good time, Mr. Cross."

He watches the antique-style needle above the doors mark the passing floors. "I can show a good time."

"Seriously? Aren't there any cameras in this car?"

"There are, but they see only what I want them to see."

"Of course, since you own the whole building. Gotcha. But you see, I'm just not interested."

Cross glances over his shoulder at me. His shirt and tie were both the same awesome cerulean as his irises. The effect is striking. "No lies, Zoe. Ever."

"That's not a lie. So what if I find you hot? I expect most women do." I take another bite out of my candy bar and chew while speaking, to show him how less I care about this whole situation. "But I'm not interested in doing anything about it."

He faces me then, turning in a leisurely pivot, that ghost of a smile softening his sinful mouth. His ease and unconcern aggravate me further. "You're trying too hard to show me you don't care. It is defeating the purpose."

"And yet you won't back off. What do I have to do to make you leave me alone? And I swear if you say 'do me' I'm flipping."

He is almost laughing again. I'm glad that if I ever decided to do stand-up, there'll be one person who I can make laugh. "You're putting it very harshly but yes, I need do need you."

"Call me old-fashioned, but I have to actually know and like someone before I get naked and sweaty with them."

"Not old-fashioned," he says. "But I don't have the time or the inclination to date."

"That makes two of us. Glad we got that cleared up."

He steps closer, his hand lifting to my face. I force myself not to move away or give him the satisfaction of seeing me intimidated. His thumb brushed over the corner of my mouth; then lifts to his own. He sucked on the pad and purred, "Chocolate and you. Delicious."

A shiver moved through me, followed by a heated ache between my legs as I imagined licking chocolate off his lethally sexy body.

What am I thinking? His actions and lines are so cheesy and creepy but they have the exact effect he desires. How amazing it must be to be in complete control of your senses.

His gaze darkens and his voice lowers intimately. "Romance isn't in my repertoire, Zoe. But a thousand ways to make you come are. Let me show you."

The car slows to a halt. He withdraws the key from the panel and the doors open.

I back into the corner and shoo him out with a flick of my wrist. "I'm really not interested."

"We'll discuss." Cross catches me by the elbow and gently, but insistently, urges me out.

I go along because I don't want to create scene at work and maybe, a tiny part of me wanted to see what he had to say when afforded more than five minutes of my time.

He is buzzed through the security door so quickly there is no need for him to break stride. The pretty redhead at the reception desk pushes hastily to her feet, about to impart some information until he shakes his head impatiently. Her mouth snaps shut and she stares at me as we pass at a brisk pace, her eyes wide.

The walk to Cross's office is mercifully short. His secretary stands when he sees his boss's approach, but remains silent when he noted that Cross isn't alone.

"Hold my calls, Scott," Cross says, steering me into his office through the open glass double doors.

Despite my irritation, I can't help but be impressed with Gideon Cross's spacious command center. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the city on two sides, while a wall of glass faces the rest of the office space. The one opaque wall opposite the massive desk is covered in flat screens streaming news channels from around the world. There are three distinct seating areas, each one larger than Mark's entire office, and a bar that showcased jewelled crystal decanters, which provided the only spots of colour in a palette that was otherwise black, gray, and white.

Cross hits a button on his desk that closes the doors; then another that instantly frosts the clear glass wall, effectively shielding us from the view of his employees. With the beautiful sapphire-hued reflective film on the exterior windows, privacy is assured. He shrugs out of his jacket and hangs it on a chrome coatrack. Then he returns to where I'd remained standing just inside the doors. "Something to drink, Zoe?"

"No, thank you." Damn it. He was looks even better in just the vest.

He gestures toward a black leather sofa. "Have a seat."

"I really don't want to."

"The sooner we work this out, the sooner we can both get back to work. Now, sit down."

"What do you think we're going to work out?"

Sighing, he scoops me up like a bride and carries me over to the sofa. He drops me on my butt; then sits next to me. "Your objections. It's time to discuss what it's going to take to get you beneath me."

"That's easy. A miracle." I push back from him, widening the space between us. I tug at the hem of my emerald green skirt, wishing I'd worn pants instead. "I find your approach crude, insensitive, unprofessional, and offensive."

He contemplates me with narrowed eyes. "It may be blunt, but it's honest. You don't strike me as the kind of woman who wants bullshit and flattery instead of the truth."

"What I want is to be seen as having more to offer than an inflatable sex doll."

Cross's brows shot up. "Well, then."

"Are we done?" I stand.

Wrapping my wrist with his fingers, he pulls me back down. "Hardly. We've established some talking points: We have an intense sexual attraction and neither of us wants to date. So what do you want - exactly? Seduction, Zoe? Do you want to be seduced?"

"You are not getting one important thing here, Mr. Cross. The world won't end if we decide to not act on this intense sexual attraction. I don't want to be seduced, or wooed or won. I literally want to be left alone."

"Why are you so averse to this? You must have some reasons. State those and we'll work on their elimination."

"Why are you so interested and invested in this?" I scowl. "There must be hundreds of women who are more than willing to sleep with you. But if you must know the reasons then I can share them with you gladly." I push to my feet and back out of reach. "Casual sex doesn't have to include wine and roses, but for God's sake, whatever else it is, sex should be personal. Friendly even. With mutual respect at the very least. And that's not even considering the implications it will have on me working here. Do you have any idea how quickly it can get awkward? And I really intend to hold on to this job."

He stands, his eyes darkening. "There are no mixed signals in my private affairs. You want me to blur that line. I can't think of a good reason to. As for work, I can make that easy. We can work on terms if this ends badly of how we need to deal with this."

"Mr. Cross, I don't want you to do jack shit, besides let me get back to work." I stride to the door and yank on the handle, cursing softly when it didn't budge. "Let me out."

I feel him come up behind me. His palms press flat to the glass on either side of my shoulders, caging me in. I struggle against him but he is too strong physically and it is not affecting me well.

The strength and demand of his will exude an almost tangible force field. When he steps close enough, it surrounds me, closing me in with him. Everything outside of that bubble ceases to exist, while inside it my entire body is straining toward his. That he had such a profound, visceral effect on me while being so damn irritating had my mind spinning. How could I be so turned on by a man whose words have turned me completely off?

"Turn around, Zoe."

I wanted to. Bad. But he was no good for me. Honestly, I could screw up my life on my own. I didn't need any help.

My flushed forehead touch the air-conditioned glass. "Let it go, Mr. Cross."

"I am. You're too much trouble." His lips brush behind my ear. One of his hands press flat to my stomach, the fingers splaying to urge me back against him. He was as aroused as I was, his cock hard and thick against my lower back. "Turn around and say good-bye."

"I don't need to turn around to do that."

"Kiss me," he says hoarsely. "Give me that much."

Panting softly, I turn around. I lick my dry lips and he groans, tilting his head, and sealing his mouth over mine. I am shocked by how soft his firm lips are and the gentleness of the pressure he exerted. I sigh and his tongue dips inside, tasting me in long leisurely licks. His kiss is confident, skilled, and just the right side of aggressive to turn me on wildly.

I distantly register my purse hitting the floor; then my hands are in his hair. I pull on the silky strands, using them to direct his mouth over mine. He growls, deepening the kiss, stroking my tongue with lush slides of his own. I feel the raging beat of his heart against my chest, proof that he wasn't just a hopeless ideal conjured by my fevered imagination.

He pushes away from the door. He cups the back of my head and the curve of my buttocks. "I want you, Zoe. Trouble or not, I can't stop."

"Then I will stop it for both of us." The moment the kiss breaks, the connection is gone and I come to my senses. "Good bye, Mr. Cross. Please let me go now."

* * *

 **There. That wasn't so bad, was it? I'm really trying to divert from the OG text here and give it a few twists.**

 **Thanks for reading this all of you! Reviews make me the happiest human ever! and if its negative things, then definitely say it. Constructive criticism only helps budding writers.**

 **Love ya'll!**


	6. Chapter 4

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 **This is the maximum I have diverted from the story so far and it will only go further away. If you don't like it, please tell me. I'm hoping you will enjoy this a lot!**

* * *

Cross looks into my eyes, stormy grey and so intense I could just stare into them forever. "Zoe, please. I need you."

I could hear it in his voice too. He was seriously turned on and ready to go but I was not ready to be fucked by my Boss's boss in his office. "Please don't make this any more difficult than it already is."

He leans in again, for another kiss maybe. I think he assumes that if he gets me turned on, I'll go ahead with this. He couldn't be more wrong. The more turned on I am, the more I realize how wrong this is and the more I need him away from me. Thus, knowing he is off-guard, I use both my hands, place the palms flat on his chest and push with all my strength. I think I pushed too hard and imagine him falling flat and hurting himself which was scary but he is so strong, he only stumbles back a few paces which was a relief.

Just then I hear a voice in his office, so close that for a second I think there's someone else in the room.

"Sir, your two o'clock appointment is here."

He stands behind the sofa, flushed and scowling, his chest heaving. His tie is loosened and the fly of his slacks strained against a very impressive erection.

 _Jeez, keep it in your pants buddy._

However, if that's what he looks like, I may not be much better off.

"Christ." He shoves both hands through his hair. "It's the middle of the fucking day. In my goddamn fucking office!"

 _Damn straight. Now you realize that?_

I straighten my appearance and untie my hair since the ponytail is just a mess now.

Cross retrieves his coat, shrugging into it before adjusting his tie. He moves back towards the door just as I crouch to retrieve my purse and he lowers with me.

He catches my chin, forcing me to look at him. "Hey," he says softly. "You okay?"

My throat burns from embarrassment and anger at myself about what I had just let happen. I am aroused and mad and thoroughly self-conscious. I've never in my life lost my mind like that. And I hate that I'd done so with him, a man whose approach to sexual intimacy is so clinical it depresses me just thinking about it.

I jerk my chin away. "I'll be a lot better when I get out of here."

"Zoe, I want you so badly it hurts. I'm dangerously close to taking you to the couch and making you come 'til you beg me to stop."

Time to use the last weapon in my arsenal. "I'm sure the room is soundproof and all but if you try to touch me again, I'm screaming and banging the door till I get attention. I'm highly uncomfortable and in a very unappealing situation right now. I hope you get that and just open this goddamned door." I say, in a little more than a whisper looking directly into his eyes. He needed to think that I would go through with it, even if I wasn't sure about it myself. Clutching the strap of my purse, I stand on shaky legs.

Cross stands with me. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean for it to happen like this either. We got off on the wrong foot. Give me another chance. I'll be done by five. I'll come get you then."

"No, you won't. Thank you for apologising but what's done is done."

"All I need is another go. And I will take it even if you don't give it to me."

"I would say I'd like to see you try but I would be lying. I lost my head for a second there, but it was just a good-bye kiss. I still don't want what you want."

His fingers curl around the door handle. "Yes, you do. You just don't want it the way I want to give it to you. So, we'll revisit and revise."

It seemed useless arguing with him. I'll just have to completely ignore him and go my way.

I set my hand over his and yank on the handle, ducking under his arm to squeeze out of the door. His secretary shoves quickly to his feet, gaping, as do the woman and two men who are waiting for Cross. I hear him speak behind me.

"Scott will show you into my office. I'll be just a moment."

He catches me by reception, his arm crossing my lower back to grip my hip. Not wanting to make a scene, I wait until we are by the elevators to pull away.

He stands calmly and hits the call button. "Five o'clock, Zoe."

I stare at the lighted button. "No."

"Yes. If you're busy today, then tomorrow"

"I'm busy all weekend."

Stepping in front of me, he asks tightly, "With whom?"

"That's none of your -"

His hand covers my mouth. "Don't. Tell me when, then. And before you say never, take a good look at me and tell me if you see a man who's easily deterred."

His face is hard, his gaze narrowed and determined. I shiver. But I am stubborn and now, pissed as heck.

Swallowing, I wait until he lowers his hand and say exactly what he needed to hear.

"I would suggest you do the same, Mr. Cross. When I make my decision, I make it. No one, no matter how rich, good-looking or persistent can change my mind. And I also suggest you understand that I'm not a prize you can win. In case you hadn't noticed, I have a mind along with the body you're so desperate to get into. And when my mind looks at you, it screams and tells me to run into the opposite direction. So despite your warning, I think my answer will be never."

The elevator arrives and I step into it. I get in without looking at him but I hear his voice as clear as possible just before the doors close. "We're going to happen, Zoe."

It sounded as much like a threat as a promise.

* * *

"Don't sweat it, Zoe," Mark says, when I arrive at my desk nearly a quarter after two. "You didn't miss anything. I had a late lunch with Mr. Leaman. I just barely got back myself."

"Thank you and sorry." No matter what he says, I still feel terrible. Where did my kick-ass Friday morning go?

We work steadily until five, discussing a fast-food client and contemplating some possible tweaks to ad copy for a chain of organic grocery stores.

"Talk about strange bedfellows," Mark teases, I laugh at how close it is to my current personal situation.

I shut down my computer and am pulling my purse out of the drawer when my phone rings. I glance at the clock, see it is exactly five, and consider ignoring the call because I am technically done for the day.

But since I still feel shitty about my overly-long lunch, I consider it penance and answer. "Mark Garrity's -"

"Zoe honey. Richard says you forgot your cell phone at his office."

I exhale in a rush and sag back into my chair. I can picture the handkerchief wringing that usually accompanies that particular anxious tone of my mother's. It drives me nuts and it also breaks my heart. "Hi, Mom. How are you?"

"Oh, I'm lovely. Thank you." My mom has a voice that is both girlish and breathy, like Marilyn Monroe crossed with Scarlett Johansson. "Clancy dropped your phone off with the concierge at your place. You really shouldn't go anywhere without it. You never know when you might need to call for someone -"

"I'm good too Mom, thanks for asking. Also, what does Dr. Petersen say about you tracing my phone?"

The silence on the other end of the line is telling. "Dr. Petersen knows I worry about you."

Pinching the bridge of my nose, I say, "We need to talk, Mom. Properly and calmly. And maybe have another joint appointment with Dr. Petersen."

"Oh...of course. He did mention that he'd like to see you again. And we are meeting tomorrow, dear."

"I know, but not like that. A proper long conversation not through Richard or Dr. Petersen. Maybe the day after? It doesn't matter when. I need to talk to you."

"Okay. We'll work something out. How is your new job, honey?"

She sounds a lot more relaxed now. I think it is because I'm not as angry as she expected me to be. Which I am not. She needs to learn like a toddler what is okay and what is not okay and I need to be patient with her because I owe her that. "I really really like it."

"That's wonderful, Zoe! Is your boss treating you well?"

"Yes, he's great. I couldn't ask for anyone better."

"Is he handsome?"

I smile. "Yes, very. And he's taken."

"Damn it. The good ones always are." She laughs and my smile widens.

I love it when she is happy and love it even more when it is because of me. She has suffered enough on my account. "I can't wait to see you tomorrow at the advocacy dinner."

Monica Tramell Barker Mitchell Stanton is in her element at society functions, a gilded shining beauty who'd never lacked male attention in her life.

"Let's make a day of it," my mom says breathlessly. "You, me, and Cary. We'll go to the spa, get pretty and polished. I'm sure you could use a massage after working so hard."

"I won't turn one down, that's for sure. And I know Cary will love it."

"Oh, I'm excited! I'll send a car by your place around eleven?"

"We'll be ready."

After I hang up, I lean back in my chair and exhale, needing a hot bath and wishing the massage could happen today.

As I swap out my heels for my walking shoes, my phone rings again. My mother is rarely distracted for long. The five minutes since we'd ended our call was just about the right length of time for her to realize the cell phone issue hadn't been resolved. Once again, I debate ignoring the phone, but I don't want to take any of the day's crap back home with me.

I answer with my usual greeting, but it lacks its usual punch.

"I'm still thinking about you."

God dammit this man! I am getting a headache which doesn't completely justify me banging the receiver of the phone against my head. But I do. Frustration does that to you.

"Mr. Cross. How can I help you?"

"I can still feel you, Zoe. Still taste you. I've been hard since you left, through two meetings and one teleconference. You've got the advantage, state your demands."

"Ah," I murmur. "Lemme think."

I let him wait, smiling as I remember Cary's comment about blue balls. "Hmm...Nothing is coming to mind. But I do have some friendly advice. Go to the Church this Sunday, maybe? Or find a woman who would do anything to get under you. I'm sure there are plenty standing offers. Release your pent up sexual energy with her and when you come back on Monday, you will be over me! I don't know about you, but that would help me a lot."

The creak of leather sounds over the phone and I imagine him leaning back in his desk chair. "That was your one free pass, Zoe. The next time you insult my intelligence, I'll take you over my knee."

"I don't like that kind of thing, actually. And we can avoid it completely by not having a conversation ever again."

"We'll discuss. In the interim, tell me what you do like."

I stand. "You definitely have the voice for phone sex, but you're not using it on the correct person. I have a date with two very hot brothers."

Not completely untrue. I needed a Supernatural marathon to get over this mind-fudgery.

I should've hung up then, to gain the full effect of the brush-off, but I couldn't resist knowing if he is as ticked as I had imagine he is. Plus, not being with him gave me a lot more courage.

"Oh, Zoe." Cross says my name in a decadent purr. "If only you give me a chance, you'll know I'm worth much more than two hot men."

I ignore the statement as I sling my bag and purse over my shoulder, grateful he couldn't see how my hand shook. "I don't think so. Because you would have to be brave and selfless and romantic and kind to be even compared to them. So far, I haven't seen any of these in you. So bad luck, sex isn't what always wins bets. Good night, Mr. Cross. Have a great weekend."

I hang up and take the stairs, deciding the twenty-floor descent should serve as an avoidance technique because I wouldn't put it past him to be waiting in the lift for me again.

* * *

I am so grateful to be home after the day I've had that I practically dance through my apartment's front door. My heartfelt "God, it's good to be home!" and accompanying spin is passionate enough to startle the couple on the couch.

"Oh," I say, wincing at my own silliness. Cary isn't in a compromising position with his guest when I barge in, but they were sitting close enough to suggest intimacy.

"Hey, baby girl," Cary calls out, pushing to his feet. "I was hoping you'd make it back before Trey had to leave."

"I have class in an hour," Trey explains, rounding the coffee table as I drop my bag on the floor and put my purse on a barstool at the breakfast bar. "But I'm glad I got to meet you before I left."

"Me, too." I shake the hand he extends to me, taking him in with a quick glance. He is about my age, I guess. Average height and nicely muscular. He has unruly blond hair, soft hazel eyes, and a nose that has clearly been broken at some point.

"Mind if I get something to drink?" I asked. "It's been a long day."

"Go for it," Trey replies.

"I'll take some wine." Cary joins us by the breakfast bar. He is wearing loose-fitting black jeans and an off-the-shoulder black sweater. The look is casual and elegant, and does a phenomenal job of offsetting his dark brown hair and emerald eyes.

I go to fridge and pull out a random bottle of wine for Cary and juice for me.

Trey shoves his hands in the pockets of his jeans and rocks back on his heels, talking quietly with Cary as I uncork and pour.

The phone rings and I grab the handset off the wall. "Hello?"

"Hey, Zoe? It's Brian."

"Brian, hi." I lean my hip into the counter. "How are you?"

"I hope you don't mind my calling. Your stepdad gave me your number."

Gah. I've had enough of Stanton for one day. "Not at all. What's up?"

"Honestly? Everything's looking up right now. Your stepdad is like my fairy godfather. He's funding a few safety improvements to the studio and setting up a whole mini-library here. That's why I'm calling. The studio's going to be out of commission for the rest of the week. The meet-ups will resume next Monday."

I close my eyes, struggling to tamp down a flare of exasperation. It isn't Brian's fault that Stanton and my mom were overprotective control freaks. Also, he sounds so happy and excited, I may need to let this one pass. I am seriously debating having some wine myself but decide to avoid it. "Sounds good. I can't wait. I'm really excited to get back. Last time was so much fun."

"I'm excited, too. I'm going to make sure you attend every meeting, Zoe. Your parents are going to get their money's worth."

I set a filled glass in front of Cary and take a big gulp out of my own. It never ceases to amaze me how much cooperation money could buy. But again, that wasn't Brian's fault. "No complaints here."

"We'll schedule one first thing next week."

"Great. See you then." I hang up and catch the glance Trey shoots Cary when he thinks neither of us is looking. It is soft and filled with a sweet yearning, and it reminds me that my problems could wait. "I'm sorry I caught you on the way out, Trey. Do you have time for pizza Wednesday night? I'd love to do more than say hi and bye."

"I have class." He gives me a regretful smile and shoots another side-glance at Cary. "But I could come by on Tuesday."

"That'd be great." I smile. "We could order in and have a movie night."

"I'd like that."

I am rewarded with the kiss Cary blows me as he heads to the door to show Trey out. When he returns to the kitchen he grabs his wine and says, "All right. Spill it, Zoe. You looked stressed."

"I am," I agree, grabbing the bottles and moving into the living room.

"It's Gideon Cross, isn't it?"

"Oh, yeah. But I don't want to talk about him." Although Gideon's pursuit is exhilarating, his goal sucked. "Let's talk about you and Trey instead. How did you two meet?"

"I ran across him on a job. He's working part time as a photographer's assistant. Sexy, isn't he?" His eyes are bright and happy. "And a real gentleman. In an old-school way."

"Who knew there were any of those left?" I mutter before polishing off my first glass.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing. I'm sorry, Cary. He seemed great, and he obviously digs you. Is he studying photography?"

"Veterinary medicine."

"Wow. That's awesome."

"I think so, too. But forget about Trey for a minute. Talk about what's bugging you. Get it out."

I sigh. "My mom. She found out about my interest in Brian's club and now she's freaking out."

"What? How'd she find out? I swear I haven't told anyone."

"I know you didn't. Never even crossed my mind." Grabbing the bottle off the table, I refill my glass. "Get this. She's been tracking my cell phone."

Cary's brows rise. "Seriously? That's...creepy."

"I know, right? That's what I told Stanton, but he doesn't want to hear it."

"Well, hell." He runs a hand through his long bangs. "So what do you do?"

"Get a new phone. And talk to her. And meet with Dr. Petersen to see if he can talk some sense into her."

"Good move. Turn it over to her shrink. So...is everything okay with your job? Do you still love it?"

"Totally." My head falls back into the sofa cushions and my eyes close. "My work and you are my lifesavers right now."

"What about the young hottie bazillionaire who wants to nail you? Come on, Zoe. You know I'm dying here. What happened?"

I tell him, of course. I want his take on it all. But when I finish, he is quiet. I lift my head to look at him, and find him bright-eyed and biting his lip.

"Cary? What are you thinking?"

"I'm feeling kind of hot from that story." He laughs and the warm, richly masculine sound sweeps a lot of my irritation away. I throw a cushion at him which he catches easily and puts aside. "Sorry but he's got to be so confused right now. I would've paid money to see his face when you hit him with that bit he wanted to spank you over."

"I can't believe he said that. What the hell is he into?"

"Spanking's not deviant." He falls into the couch, a brilliant smile lighting up his handsome face. "You're a huge challenge to a guy who obviously thrives on them. And he's willing to make concessions to have you, which I'd bet he's not used to. Just tell him what you want."

What do I want? "I don't exactly know what I want but whatever it is, I'm just not that into him. The way he treated me, so business-like, I can't get over that."

"Come one, Zoe. It's not like you have never had a one night stand."

"I have, I know. But even that was a lot more respectable than this. Frankly, I just don't have the time to accommodate a relationship right now. Of any kind. What with the new city, new job and my Mom giving me grief."

"First, he does not want a relationship either. A little physical release might even be good for you. Second, don't give me the 'I-don't-have-the-time' thing. Any kind of relationship needs work. No one has an hour marked out in their calendar for talking to their boyfriend or girlfriend. You need to accommodate it. Also, despite all the things you just mentioned, you did join the book club."

"Yes that's coz I love reading."

"Precisely my point. You did it coz you wanted to. Do you want this or not? Apart from this lame excuse is there anything else holding you back?"

"Well, there's the obvious. His brusque approach turns me off too."

"You can't blame him for that either, really. He was being straightforward about what he wants."

When he said it like that, I was thankful to Cross for being honest. He could've played me, faked wanting a relationship and used me. Instead, he was truthful from the very beginning.

"I guess it's good that he was honest but how? And why can't he respect my opinion and just move on? I still don't want this."

"Again, why?"

Why? Why indeed…

'Because it's too much effort." I finally admit. "Because he is a celebrity. You know how hard it was for me to adjust when mom married Richard. And that was only coz I was his wife's daughter. Imagine how stressful it will be if people find out Cross and I are together. I'm not good at handling this. It's not even about being good at it. I just don't like to be the centre of attention."

"You're overthinking this, as you always do. If that happens, you will manage it. And that's a big ass if. Mostly, go in for the sex, baby girl. God knows you need it."

"I'm going to ignore that jibe and present you with two scenarios. A- We have sex, like he wants to. I don't think I'll be okay with that. Quickies between work, nights at either of our place. Nothing I couldn't do without. B- We do want more! What if he feels like he wants to date? Or worse. What if I want to date? A powerful man like him will want to himself what's his and yet he has made clear he doesn't want a relationship. Ughh… It's just too much."

"All right, all right. I get it." He sets his glass down on the table. "Let's go out. Hit a bar. Dance 'til we drop. Maybe meet some guys who'll talk you up some."

"I was gonna watch some TV and turn in, actually."

"No, that's not happening. Clubbing and dancing is when you truly let go. I know it, I've seen it. You need to loosen up about this."

I shake my head and stand. "Fine. Let me take a shower and we'll go."

* * *

I throw myself into clubbing like it is going out of style. Cary and I bounce all over downtown clubs from Tribeca to the East Village, wasting stupid money on cover charges and having a fabulous time. I dance until my feet feel like they are going to fall off, but I tough it out until Cary complains about his heeled boots first.

We stumble out of a techno-pop club with a plan to buy me flip-flops at a nearby Walgreens when we run across a hawker promoting a lounge a few blocks away.

"Great place to get off your feet for a while," he says, without the usual flashy smile or exaggerated hype most of the hawkers employ. His clothes - black jeans and turtleneck - are more upscale, which intrigues me. And he doesn't have fliers or postcards. What he hands me is a business card made from papyrus paper and printed with a gilded font that catches the light of the electric signage around us. I make a mental note to hang on to it as a great piece of print advertising.

A stream of quickly moving pedestrians flow around us. Cary squints down at the lettering, having quite a few drinks in him. "Looks swank."

"Show them that card," the hawker urges. "You'll skip the cover."

"Sweet." Cary links arms with me and drags me along. "Let's go. You might find a quality guy in a swanky joint."

My feet are seriously killing me by the time we find the place, but I quit bitching when I see the charming entrance. The line to get in is long, extending down the street and around the corner. Amy Winehouse's soulful voice drifts out of the open door, as do well-dressed customers who exit with big smiles.

True to the hawker's word, the business card is like a magic spell that grants us immediate and free entrance. A gorgeous hostess leads us upstairs to a quieter VIP bar that overlooks the stage and dance floor below. We are shown to a small seating area by the balcony and settle at a table hugged by two half-moon velvet sofas. She props a beverage menu in the center and says, "Your drinks are on the house. Enjoy your evening."

"Wow." Cary whistles. "We scored."

"I think that hawker recognized you from an ad."

"Wouldn't that rock?" He grins. "God, it's a great night. Hanging out with my best girl and crushing on a new hunk in my life."

"Oh?"

"I think I've decided to see where things go with Trey."

That made me so happy. It feels like I've been waiting forever for him to find someone who treats him right. "Has he asked you out yet?"

"No, but I don't think it's because he doesn't want to." He shrugs and smoothens his artfully ripped T-shirt. Paired with black leather pants and spiked wristlets, he looks sexy and wild. "I just think he's trying to figure out the situation with you first. He wigged when I told him I lived with a woman and that I'd moved across the country to be with you. He's worried I might be bi-curious and secretly hung up on you. That's why I wanted you two to meet today, so he could see how you and I are together."

"I'm sorry, Cary. I'll try to put him at ease about it."

"It's not your fault. Don't worry about it. It'll work out if it's supposed to."

His assurances don't make me feel better. I start thinking of ways I can help.

Two guys stop by our table. "Okay if we join you?" the taller one asks.

I glance at Cary, and then back at the guys. They look like brothers and they are very attractive. Both are smiling and confident, their stances loose and easy.

I am about to say, Sure, when a warm hand settles on my bare shoulder and squeezes firmly. "This one's taken."

Across from me, Cary gapes as Gideon Cross rounds the sofa and extends his hand to him. "Taylor. Gideon Cross."

"Cary Taylor." He shakes Gideon's hand with a wide smile. "But you knew that. Nice to meet you. I've heard a lot about you."

He's a dead man.

"Good to know." Gideon settles on the seat beside me, his arm draped behind me so that his fingertips could brush casually and possessively up and down my arm. "Maybe there's hope for me yet."

Twisting at the waist, I face him and whisper fiercely, "What do you think you are doing?"

He shoots me a hard glance. "Whatever it takes."

"I'm going to dance." Cary stands with a mischievous grin. "Be back in a bit."

Ignoring my pleading glance, my best friend blows me a kiss and the guys follow him. I watch them all go, my heart racing. After another minute, ignoring Gideon becomes ridiculous, as well as impossible.

My gaze slides over him. He is wearing dress slacks in graphite gray and a black V-neck sweater, the overall effect being one of careless sophistication. It's a good look on him, giving him a softer feel but I know it was only an illusion. He is a hard man in a lot of ways.

I take a deep breath, feeling like I needed to make an effort to socialize with him. After all, isn't that my big complaint? That he wanted to skip past the getting-to-know-you stage and jump straight into bed?

"You look..." I pause. Fantastic. Wonderful. Amazing. So damn sexy...In the end, I go with the lame, "You look good."

His brow arches. "Ah, at last there is something you find good about me."

The edge to his tone rubs me the wrong way. "As if you didn't know that, right?"

"I do actually. But it felt a lot better to hear it from you."

My hands flex restlessly in my lap. "Well, glad you liked something I said."

"I always like what you say. You never cease to surprise me." He stares at me a minute, and then nods. "How was your date with the hot brothers?"

Oh hell. I look away. It is a lot easier teasing over the phone. Doing it while squirming under that piercing blue stare is mortifying. "It does not mean what you think it means."

He brushes the backs of his fingers over my cheek and murmurs, "Really? So what does it mean?"

I hear the amusement in his voice and swiftly change topics. "Do you come here often?"

What even? Where did that clichéd line come from?

His hand drops to my lap and catches one of mine, his fingers curling into my palm. "When necessary."

"Ah. So when you are on the prowl?"

His mouth curves into a genuine smile that hits me hard. "When expensive decisions need to be made. I own this club, Zoe."

Of course he does. Jeez.

A pretty waitress sets two pinkish-coloured iced drinks in square tumblers on the table. She looks at Gideon and gives him a flirtatious smile. "Here you go, Mr. Cross. Two Virgin Flamingo Cocktails. Can I get you anything else?"

"That'll be all for now. Thanks."

I could totally see that she wanted to get under him, then I was distracted by what we'd been served. It is my beverage of choice when clubbing and what I've been drinking all night. My nerves tingle. I watch him take a drink, and stare at him, thinking about how to put the question.

"Not bad," he murmured. "Tell me if we made it right."

He moves in towards me for a kiss, but I see it coming and turn away.

My gaze falls to my drink on the table, my thoughts swirl around in my head, a clusterfuck of impressions and recollections and confusion. "How did you know?"

"Know what?" he asks.

"What I like to drink? What Cary's name is?"

He inhales deeply, and sets his drink down. He shifts on the sofa and draws a knee up onto the cushion between us so that he faces me directly. "You visited another of my clubs earlier. Your credit card popped and your drinks were recorded. And Cary Taylor is listed on the rental agreement for your apartment."

The room spins. No way...My cell phone. My credit card. My effing apartment. I couldn't breathe. Between my mother and him, I feel claustrophobic.

"Zoe. Jesus. You're white as a ghost." He shoves a glass into my hand. "Drink."

It is my drink. My drink that he knew about. My favourite drink that he found out about by stalking me. I pound it, draining the tumbler. My stomach churns for a moment at the sudden flood, then settles. "You own the building I live in?" I ask.

"Oddly enough, yes." He moves to sit on the table, facing me, his legs on either side of mine. He takes my glass and sets it aside; then warms my chilled hands with his.

"Are you crazy?"

His mouth thins. "Is that a serious question?"

"Yes. Yes, it is. My mom stalks me, too, and she sees a shrink. Do you have a shrink?"

"Not presently, but you're driving me crazy enough to make that a possibility."

"No, don't make this about me right now. Is this behaviour normal for you?" My heart is pounding. I can hear the blood rushing past my eardrums.

He shoves a hand through his hair. I notice he does this whenever posed with a situation which requires some explanation. "I didn't do anything wrong. I only accessed information you voluntarily made available to me."

"No! Not to you! Not for what you used it for! Why do humans even interact anymore then? Why not just search for everything available on the vast internet?" I stare at him, more confused than ever. "Why would you do that?"

He has the grace to look disgruntled at least. "So I can figure you out, damn it."

"Why don't you just ask me? Is that so effing hard for people to do nowadays?"

"It is with you." He grabs his drink off the table and tosses back most of it. "I can't get you alone for more than a few minutes at a time."

"Because the only thing you want to talk about is what you have to do to get laid!"

"Christ, Zoe," he hisses, squeezing my hand. "Keep your voice down!"

I study him, taking in every line and plane of his face. He said once that I was mystery to him. Well on a scale of mysteries, if I was a plain old UFO sighting, then he was the Loch Ness monster.

His gaze darts over my face. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"I'm thinking."

"About what?" His jaw tightens. "And I'm warning you, if you say anything about churches, three-ways or releasing sexual energy, I won't be held accountable for my actions."

That almost makes me smile. "I want to understand a few things, because I think it's possible I'm not giving you enough credit."

"I'd like to understand a few things myself," he mutters.

"I'm guessing the 'I want you under me' approach has a high success rate for you."

His face smoothens into unreadable impassivity. "I'm not touching that one, Zoe."

"Okay. You want to figure out what it's going to take to get me into bed. Is that why you're here in this club right now? Because of me? And don't say what you think I want to hear."

His gaze is clear and steady. "I'm here for you, yes. I arranged it."

Suddenly the threads the street hawker was wearing made sense. We'd been hustled by someone on Cross Industries' payroll. "Did you figure that getting me here would get you laid?"

His mouth twitches with suppressed amusement. "There's always the hope, but I expected it would take more work than a chance meeting over drinks."

"You're right. So why do it?"

"Because you're out trolling. I can't do anything about whatever you meant by the hot brothers thing, but I can stop you from picking up some asshole in a bar. You want to score, Zoe, I'm right here."

"That should not concern you. I have flat out refused you multiple times. It is not my fault that you are unwilling to accept it."

"Because I know my approach was incorrect. As I said, I want to start over. Get another chance. Show you that I may be honest but not as crude as you think I am." He fingered one of my silver chandelier earrings. "I need you but I also want you to need me."

His voice has softened, and it stirs an alarming yearning. "Is that all you want? What if even after giving you a second chance I'm not interested?"

"Then I will accept it and leave you alone. At least give me a fighting chance."

I know that is a lot of the appeal for him. Gideon Cross wouldn't be where he is, at such a young age, if he took "no" without giving it his all. "What's your definition of dating?"

A frown marred the space between his brows. "Lengthy social time spent with a woman during which we're not actively fucking."

"Don't you enjoy the company of women?"

The frown turns into a scowl. "Sure, as long as there aren't any exaggerated expectations or excessive demands on my time. I've found the best way to steer clear of those is to have mutually exclusive sexual relationships and friendships."

There are those pesky "exaggerated expectations" again. Clearly, those are a sticking point with him. "So, you do have female friends?"

"Of course." His legs tighten around mine, capturing me. "Where are you going with this?"

"You segregate sex from the rest of your life. You separate it from friendship, work...everything."

"I've got good reasons for doing that."

"I'm sure you do. Okay, here are my thoughts." It is difficult concentrating when I am so close to him. "I told you I don't want to date and I don't. My job is priority number one and my personal life - as a single woman - is a close second. I don't want to sacrifice any of that time on a relationship and there's really not enough left over to squeeze in anything steady. Plus, I don't like being in the eye of people. Dating you would get me there."

"Alright. I get it."

"But I like sex."

"Good. Have it with me." His smile is an erotic invitation.

I shove his shoulder. "I need a personal connection with the men I sleep with. It doesn't have to be intense or deep, but sex needs to be more than an emotionless transaction for me."

"Why?"

I could tell he isn't being flippant. As bizarre as this conversation must be for him, he was taking it seriously. "Call it an essential. It pisses me off to feel used for sex. I feel devalued."

"Can't you look at it as you using me for sex?"

"I would know it in my heart that it isn't true." He is too forceful, too demanding.

A sizzling, predatory glimmer sparks in his eyes as I bare a weakness for him.

"Besides," I go on quickly, "that's semantics. I need an equal exchange in my sexual relationships. Or to have the upper hand."

"Okay."

"Okay? You said that really quickly considering I'm telling you I need to combine two things you work so hard to avoid putting together."

"I'm not comfortable with it and I don't claim to understand, but I'm hearing you - it's an issue. Tell me how to get around it."

My breath leaves me in a rush. I hadn't expected that. He is a man who wants no complications with his sex and I am a woman who finds sex complicated, but he wasn't giving up. Yet.

Now was the time to drop the hammer. "That's what is not possible. You see the situations I put up are juxtaposing against each other. I don't want a relationship right now. I also want to stay away from any sort of publicity as your new arm-candy. But, even in a purely sexual relationship, I need some sort of comfort level. We may need to spend at least some time together when we are not having sex. Which poses a paradox. I need to be in a semblance of a relationship but I don't want it. Are you getting my point?"

"It is very confusing but I am. What if we don't meet publicly? I am effluent enough to arrange that people are looking in the opposite direction from me. A situation like today for example."

"Isn't that too much work?"

"I don't mind it one bit."

"Okay fine. I wasn't giving you credit for making an effort but you did that today. You should've done it in a less creepy manner" – I hold up my hands in a surrender position when he tries to cut me off - "but I admit you did try to set up a time to talk and I wasn't helpful. However, stalking is a big no. You want to know where I am, what I am doing or what I like, ask me and I promise to tell you unless a life depended on it."

He leans in and kisses me but on the cheek. It is such a sweet gesture that I can't help but smile. "Also, for your sake, Gideon, know that there are no exaggerated expectations - when you and I spend time together not having sex, I won't think it's a date. All right?"

"That covers it." Gideon smiles and my decision to be with him solidifies for me. His smile is like lightning in the darkness, blinding and beautiful and mysterious. "I know this will work because now you want it too."

"And what makes you so sure?"

"You called me Gideon for the first time right now." He laughs as he looks at my thinking face.

"Wow. You're right. Aye, I need another drink."

* * *

 **There. Did you like it? Did you hate it? Did you feel it was okay? Whatever it is, tell me! I'm dying to hear from you...**

 **Thanks for reading, I will always love you!**


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